The Magic Umbrella
by Honoria Glossop
Summary: How will this story ever continue if I don't write it? Part TEN is finally up.
1. Part One

Disclaimer: Hmm. All Harry Potter characters belong to JK Rowling. The rest belong to me. Lady of Spain belongs to all the people who wrote it. The lyrics to "How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?" belong to Al Greene and The Bee Gees. 

**Author's Note: I recently read the Percy fic "Everywhere", got teared up, fell in love with the poor guy, and decided to write a fic about it. Aren't I sweet? Yeah...:)Dear old Perce seemed to cure my bout of writer's block...hee hee hee. **

     "A promotion? Oh, how wonderful, Percy! You're moving up so quickly at the Ministry, you'll be head of your department in no time! So proud of you, dear!" Percy sat and smiled weakly at his gushing mother, whose words poured over him like iced waters, though well-intentioned. 

     He steeled himself against showing any reasonable emotions and put on the mask that was reserved for times like these. How desperately he wished to rush up the stairs and to his humble room! To lock the door, throw away the key, sink onto his bed and cry into his pillow for a thousand years. 

     Mum still didn't know, even though it had been a whole week since Penelope broke up with him. She was getting married, she said, to a nice young businessman in six months whom she had been seeing for 2 years and that she would never see him again. And she hadn't even said goodbye. Just a curt tone of voice and a closed door. The end of another chapter in life. 

     "Yes, Mum, I'll even be getting my own secretary," he said when she finished congratulating and sugar coating and "I'm-so-proud"-ing him. The remark, of course, set off another thundering rush of complements. He hated being put through such things, being the perfect Percy everyone thought he was. How cliche, he remarked to himself. 

     Sure, he liked following rules and good grades and a nice job and salary, but it was like having a double personality disorder. Part of him wanted to climb the corporate ladder and be the Minister of Magic someday, that would be great, but the other half desperately longed to lounge on beaches; drink a good Martini just to see what it tasted like; to fall in love with some recklessly dangerous girl with "come hither" eyes and hair that smelled like bing cherries, oh! to wear tropical shirts and sandals and let the freckles on his skin show like he was proud of them. 

     And Penelope didn't care. She didn't want to listen to him casually mention such things, even though she was such a nice girl, so perfect in her own way. She was a rather unemotional girl, but still. All he wanted was to be truly loved by someone. 

     And his mother didn't count, though he suspected she didn't love him nearly as much as Ginny, the one she always wanted. And his father was just too stressed to really and truly love anyone, his was always the dutiful love that was so superficial. And his siblings? Who knew about them. He hardly ever saw any of them, and when he did, they simply shied away or teased him because he was complaining about them. 

     For now he would just give a cold shoulder to everyone. 

     Oh, bittersweet tears would come eventually. In the middle of the night when no one was watching and the door was locked and the curtains pulled, protecting him from everything that had ever happened, he would take off his almond shaped glasses and cry and cry until his eyes burned. 

     And life would still go on, no matter what he did. No matter how much he protested and fought, the river of life pushed him onward to the sea, aging and maturing and losing himself more and more to his superiors, simply to impress others and have his place in the sun. 

     "Oh, Percy. It's so wonderful to have such a smart boy like you in the Ministry," said his mother with a dreamy, far-off look in her eye. "I only wish Fred and George would take your kind of initiative..." It was a complement of the highest degree, comparing him with the other boys, but it was almost lost on his ears. 

     "Thanks, mum," he murmured in a grateful tone. They sat for a few minutes longer, and Percy picked up the usual routine by glancing down at his watch. The signal that he was out of there. "Well, must run, this promotee has work to do," he said, rising from the kitchen table, smiling affectedly and kissing his mother on the cheek. 

     Percy pushed the door shut, sending a rush of air backwards. How relieving it was not to be watching by the eye of the living. Not to be discriminated against, having only himself and his emotions to think about. Maybe he wouldn't even show up for dinner, he thought, taking out his wand and putting a lock spell on the door. 

     And then, he found himself staring at the ceiling, lying on the bed with his arms and legs sprawled out, simply breathing and existing. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed the tears to come. Dared them. 

     "Oh, Penelope. Why, why, why, why, you foolish girl?" he sighed to the ceiling. "Why..." 

  
I can think of younger days when living for my life   
Was everything a man could want to do   
I could never see tomorrow, but I was never told about the sorrow   
And how can you mend a broken heart?   
How can you stop the rain from falling down?   
Tell me, how can you stop the sun from shining?   
What makes the world go round?   
How can you mend this broken man?   
How can a loser ever win?   
Somebody, please help me mend my broken heart and let me live again 

    He woke with a start from a dream that had begun to turn into a nightmare. Something about a wedding and Penny leaving him at the altar forever and ever, not even saying goodbye. But it was a new day, as the sun peeked through the curtains on his window, as he stood to find himself in the clothes he had been wearing the night before and his eyes bleary. 

    He rubbed some life into his cheeks and gazed into the mirror that harboured his reflection. Pitiful, he thought as he shook his head. He glanced at his watch and realized he was almost late for breakfast, but not quite. It was almost curtain call, and the acteur had to be in his place and in character. Time for the mask again. 

     "...and so I was saying to Hannah the other day that those new ovens are quite the rage...Oh, Percy, dear. Come in and have some breakfast," his mother said, smiling. He managed to smile back politely and sit down without interrupting her one-sided conversation with Father any further. 

    Breakfast couldn't have ended at a better time, Percy reasoned as he grabbed his suitcase from the hall and waved to his mother. Mum had begun to ask questions about Penelope, why hadn't she been around lately? Was she alright? He wasn't going to stand for that, he thought, Apparating to the office. 

     "Ah, there you are, Weasley!" cried a head of department, Rook was his name? Percy couldn't remember. "I'd like to show you to your new office, you've got a corner space on the fifth floor!" Well, that was good news. A nice spacey office to wile away the hours in. Delightful. 

    Rook pushed the door handle to an auspicious-looking door (if there was such a thing) that was to be his salvation from Penny. He had decided to drown himself in work and nothing but the Ministry to repair himself. Percy stepped into the office, ever so neat and tidy. So Percy. 

    His perfect prefect side instantly took over, awed and marveled and leaving him breathless and ready to jump for joy. His hidden side and his heartache were forgotten for just a few glorious moments, and just for a little while, Penelope was out of sight and out of mind. 

    An odd sound broke through his thoughts and brought him back to the present, something that sounded a lot like an electric organ playing something very fast. What was that awful noise? 

     "Oh, that must be your new secretary. She used to be in another department, but she's agreed to make the transfer," said Rook as Percy frowned. "Would you like to meet her?" 

     "Oh, certainly." Percy tore his eyes away from the marvelous shrine that was his to gloat over to enter through a door at the far side of the gray streamlined room. The noise he recognized as music became louder and louder, when finally Rook opened the door and he found the source of the racket. 

    It was a small room, with a wooden desk in the middle of it and a couple of windows to the outside skyscrapers and tall buildings surrounding the Ministry. And on that desk was a small radio, turned on not too loudly, but clearly enough to produce the noise that was beginning to irritate him very much. 

    But not nearly as much as what was sitting at the desk. Rather, through Percy, as he surveyed the young girl blinkingly, what was sitting on the desk. She was young, pretty, and he knew from the moment he laid eyes on her that he despised her. 

    His new secretary was wearing a nice gray pleated skirt with a schoolgirl sweater and a light blue scarf tied into her knot of dark hair. The worst part about her, though, was that she was sitting on the desk rather than at it, and was not applying herself to something useful like typing a letter or making a telephone call, no, she was sitting on the desk listening to some Godawful music that was hurting his ears. And she was wearing roller skates. 

     "Oh, hi!" she cried kindly when she saw who had entered the room. "You must be Mr. Weasley! Sir, my name is Vivian Hemmingway, I'm your new secretary, as you probably already know." Vivian was nice and polite, just the sort of girl he would have taken up with in any other case, but she was wearing roller skates. And sitting on her desk. 

    Percy forced a smile and surveyed her again, realizing that she must not have been much younger than he was, probably the same age. Rook smiled at the young girl and pointed to the radio. 

     "What in heaven's name have you got on there?" he asked amusedly. She smiled back at him proudly and sang out, 

     "Lady of Spain. It's the instrumental version by Les Paul and Mary Ford. Very 1960s with that electric organ thrown in." Oh, yes, Percy thought, this was going to be a very dangerous situation. Very dangerous indeed. 


	2. Part Two

Disclaimer: Everybody but Hemmingway belongs to JK Rowling. Vivian belongs to me. **Author's Note: I'm back, everybody! Hopefully this will help my writer's block. It's not my best, I know, but it's one of the more boring parts (okay, not boring, but not the most interesting, either). You will finally learn why I am calling it "The Magic Umbrella", too. **

Big hugs and kisses go to my Bestest Beta-Reader friend and Co-Founder of the Mutual Admiration Club, Cassandra Claire. ("Remus Lupin IS The Fugitive...from Cassandra and Honoria!") Please read her wonderful fic, Draco Dormiens. And now, my shameless plug! Please visit my site, [The Harry Potter Fanfic Challenge Page][1]! Shameless plug now ending in 3...2...1... 

    The relentless rain poured down the otherwise spotless windows in large sheets, distorting the buildings outside and forcing them to appear large and nightmarishly out of proportion. It was inefficient, he told himself, watching the dark gray clouds weep for everything and everyone, but it was so peaceful and calm. The rain would soon turn to slush and snow, he mused. 

    Percy Weasley simply sat in the large, comfortable chair that he sat in everyday, just as he had for the past three months. Tapping his fingers together pensively, he snuck a nervous glance at his wristwatch, wondering how much peace he had left. 

    Three minutes to go, he thought. Three minutes. Three minutes until work began, until the daily grind started up again. Approximately 180 seconds until Vivien Hemmingway burst through the right hand doorway, bubbling with her usual excitement about where she had gone for dinner last night and all that sort of thing; Percy steadied himself for the coming tortures. 

    He could see her now, getting off one of the Muggle buses and opening a large umbrella, stepping out into the dreary weather. She was so stubborn not to Apparate or to simply fly there, no, she had to use public transportation. Two minutes. 

    Hemmingway would be wearing a short black peacoat with a nice little black beret on, a long red scarf tied round her collar, and underneath she would wear a modest blue skirt with a yellow blouse, all primary colours today. One minute ten seconds. 

     "How do you do, Sir?" she would say. Always calling him Sir. Hemmingway absolutely flat-out refused his request to be called Mr. Weasley. He never understood why she did things the way she did. Forty seconds. 

    She was so sunny and cheerful, yet so incredibly frustrating. She never seemed to be flustered by anything, and if it was even possible, problems made her even more cheerful. He didn't like to admit it, but beyond his annoyed exterior and his constant criticism of her, he sort of enjoyed having such a nice girl for a secretary. 

    That did not mean, though, that he liked her in any way except as a trophy. Not many employees as young as himself and right out of school got a secretary so soon. Of course, Mr. Crouch was depending on him to do his job, so of course he needed an administrative assistant. 

    And as usual, the upside of having a secretary in his homelife meant more bragging rights than anyone else, as Mother was so impressed with his upperhand in the Ministry like that. 

    He had even been invited to be one of the judges at the Yule Ball at Hogwarts! Percy smiled to himself and felt a sense of glowing pride and happiness, even at the rain outside his window. 

    As if in response to his euphoria, thunder crashed from overhead and Percy heard the door swing open. He glanced quickly at his watch again and noted with some satisfaction that she arrived exactly at the time he predicted. Determined not to let the news out in front of Hemmingway, Percy put on his best business face and slowly rotated his comfortable chair to face her. 

     "Good morning, Sir," she said cheerfully. 

     "Ah, Hemmingway. Didn't expect to see you this early." She looked up from unwrapping the red scarf from around her neck to give him a polite smile. 

     "Well, the buses were running a bit late this morning..." she began, and continued as the black pea coat was hung on the post to reveal a very bright outfit. Just as he had expected. She was almost too shocking to look at, and Percy winced slightly. How did she manage to cover herself up, and how had he managed to predict her attire for the morning? 

     "And so Susannah said that white wine most CERTAINLY went with Dragon Liver, as you KNOW it's a delicacy! How was your night yesterday?" He smiled affectedly and shrugged. 

     "Oh, just fine, I suppose. Well, shall we begin?" he inquired briskly, indicating the large bag she had been toting. She smiled, showing her straight and white teeth. 

     "Certainly, just let me get this thing out..." Hemmingway pulled out her wand and a large typewriter shot out of the bag and made a large thumping sound as it landed on Percy's desk. A maginographer, he mused. 

     "Very well," he said aloud, "I will now dictate. Dear Mr. Bashir: We have been notified by various sources of your actions regarding a certain shipment of what has been presumed to be magical carpets into this country..." And so the morning went by. Percy happily corrected Hemmingway numerous times and was very pleased to have to make her retype 3 letters over because the magicographer was acting up and not spacing the words properly. 

    And yet, not matter how many times he told her not to type so slowly or to straighten up or not to look at the keys while they moved of their own accord, Hemmingway seemed to become more and more pleased with every little snip he made. It was nearing the lunch hour and Percy was tired. Just as he had the day before, the day before that, and the day before that. It had been the same routine for 2 months. 

    Two months. Had it really been that long? Two months since...since Penny had said goodbye? Percy listened to the quiet clicking of Hemmingway's magicographer and felt a pang of sadness he hadn't let penetrate his morning's work earlier. Why did he feel remorse now? 

     "Sir?" Hemmingway's soft voice broke into his thoughts. 

     "Hmm?" 

     "Sir, are you alright? You don't look well! Perhaps you should go home and rest." Percy sighed. Yet another of Hemmingway's annoying habits. Constantly mother-smothering him and looking after him as though he wasn't practically 19 years old and an adult in his own right. 

    But she's 18 and a half too, a little voice said. So? Well, doesn't she have the right to be treated like an adult too? She's a secretary! Oh, shut up. Percy took a deep breath. 

     "Alright, Hemmingway, that's enough for this morning. Take an hour for lunch." 

     "Where are you going for lunch, Sir?" 

     "Oh, I was going home. My mother always makes something for my father and I during the lunch hour." Why had they suddenly started this conversation? It was as though they had been good friends for several years. 

     "Really? I wish my mum lived in England, I'd go and visit her sometimes." 

     "Where does she live?" 

     "Switzerland. She's a Head of some Department at their Ministry or something like that." 

    Percy rose from his chair and was about to take his hat off the coatrack when he noticed a very large black umbrella hanging upside down he hadn't seen before. 

     "Miss Hemmingway?" he queried. 

     "Mmm--yes, sir?" she replied, zipping up the large bag. 

     "Is this yours?" he said, indicating the umbrella. She smiled and strod over to take it into her hands. 

     "When I was 10 and a half years old, my grandmother, who was a fortune teller in Guernica, gave this to me and told me that it was a magic umbrella. I've had it 9 years now, and I haven't seen any magic in it whatsoever, except when one opens it up." She unclasped it and opened it, revealing a brilliant array of tiny, sparkling white lights, twinkling serenely. 

     "Magic Christmas tree lights," she said in reply to his surprised stare. "My family is very fond of strange things, this obviously being one of them. I've still never been able to figure out what the lights are for. Whenever I open the umbrella, they always make me feel so much better even though it's raining. 

     "My mother once told me the umbrella contains an ancient love potion. I suppose I'll never really find out, will I?" 

    And with that, she smiled politely at him, closed the umbrella, and was soon out of Percy's sight, leaving him to try to decipher the meaning of her puzzling words. 

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/harrypotterchallengefic



	3. Part Three

    Disclaimer: Percy and all mentioned HP characters belong to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and Bloomsbury Publishing. See? No sarcastic little comments this time. Hemmingway and Rook belong to me.     **Author's Note: Whee. The 3rd installment to my little investiture to the fanfiction universe. This series is dedicated to my dearest of Somewhat Realistic Aunts, Cassandra Claire. Umm...what else...oh, the idea of Percy hating the winter because of the cold shoulder belongs to...Cairnsy, I believe? Anyway, that was a nod toward her set of fanfiction. That's all. **

The Magic Umbrella Part Three 

    The orange tinged eyelashes fluttered open, revealing a set of plain brown eyes that remained unfocused for a few seconds before taking in their surroundings. Percy sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, wishing that just for once the upstairs had a heater of some sort. 

    It had stormed without pause all night, leaving a fresh and very thick blanket of snow on the ground. Winter had never been so welcomed, he thought with a hint of sarcasm, shivering. Percy reached for his glasses on the nightstand, put them on, and prepared his feet for the huge shock that is hardwood flooring. 

    He winced, letting the waves of frigidity overtake him before seizing his dressing robe and slippers. Percy had always hated winter, the epitome of emotions and togetherness. But not for that particular purpose. Everyone in his family seemed so together, so warm and happy, like a family was supposed to be. He hated the togetherness of something else. Silently thanking his mother for the new slippers, he made his way over to the eastern window. 

    Percy pressed his forehead against the cool windowpane, closing his eyes against the blinding whiteness and wrapping his arms around himself to protect him from the cold. Or something else. 

    The prefects. The memories of being a prefect, moving as one in a group of people who didn't care if anybody's feelings of individuality were trampled in the midst of their actions to "protect the student body of Hogwarts as both an organized team and a group of honoured individuals". Honoured, sure, but individualized his foot. 

    Prefects were always together. They lived together, ate together, took classes together, breathed, slept, walked, talked and existed in total abject synchronization. There were no individuals, just a monotonous group of chosen teenagers who forgot who they were the minute they received a prefect's badge. 

    And then there was the title of Head Boy. Percy sighed at the thought of the name itself, steamy clouds of condensation appearing on the window. The two sided position that practically named one Second Deputy Headmaster. 

    Oh, yes, there were the benefits of being the most esteemed student in the entire school, that almost everyone looked up to you, but there was also the fact that everyone made you the butt of jokes all across the board, and your own siblings--who didn't care an inkling of your feelings but just assumed that you had intentions merely for yourself and your "big ego"--encouraged them on. 

    He laughed softly, almost menacingly, as he lifted his head from the glass and looked across the room at the clock on the wall. He still had time. Percy shivered again and cursed being cold, being lonely, being melancholy, but most of all, being poor. 

    Lying in bed late one night when he was 10 years old and about to head off to Hogwarts, Percy had lain awake thinking about his family's not so present fortune. He had come to the conclusion that being poor brought people together, particuarly his own family. Everyone seemed a little closer to one another. Except, of course, him, as he later realized. 

    It wasn't that he wasn't loved, or that he wasn't part of the closely-knit Weasleys, it was that being poor made him...dreary. It was a raincloud that constantly hung over his head, one that he could never avoid. Mother and Father did their best to put a barrier between the children and the money, or lack thereof, but sooner or later everyone figured it out. 

    Especially Penelope. Percy shivered again and scuffled over to his closet, pulling a large sweater over his head while strategically removing his dress robe at the same time. Penelope hadn't really known about the family's financially status in their 6th year, she simply saw Percy as further proof that she was totally loyal to being a prefect and part of the group. It was their "duty to the prefects" to be together all the time, a sort of sweet couple but nothing too serious. 

    And then something changed in their 7th year. Maybe Penelope had been gossiping too much for her own good, or had seem him in some secondhand store in Diagon Alley she wouldn't have walked into for her prefect's badge, but in any case, she had a totally different attitude toward him. 

    Percy remembered with great fondness the time Penny placed a wager with him, 10 galleons to him if Gryffindor won an insignificant Quidditch match. And, of course, he would have to pay her 10 galleons if they lost. A most desparaging loss, indeed. 

    He was glad they won, more than anything, not just to have the money, but to be debt free of Penelope. It simply emphasized her shallow personality, he thought bitterly, yanking on shoe strings as he finished dressing. She was blonde and curly haired, a rich daddy's little girlie. And she was marrying someone else. 

    Percy slowly let his foot fall the floor with a clunk. Penny. Getting married. For a few horrible seconds, Percy felt the panic and the despair rise in him that had been subconciously bothering him for ages now. But she was gone, wasn't she? She was just another superficial girl who had come and left. 

    He sighed, realizing what he had feared for a long time. He had become dependent on Penelope during those last two years at Hogwarts. He hadn't intended to, just like he hadn't intended for Hemmingway to become his secretary at the Ministry. At least she didn't haunt his thoughts, Percy mused, rolling his eyes in something of amusement. 

    He needed to think about something besides girls. All you got when you fell in love was a guy with a pin to burst your bubble. That's what you got for all your trouble. Percy grinned despite the circumstances. I'll never fall in love again. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what he was working on at the office. 

    In one week he would be on his way back to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Competition's Yule Ball, a very distinguished honour indeed, seeing as he was just Mr. Crouch's personal assistant. Mr. Crouch. Yet another superficial moron who was always disappearing. He had a strange feeling about him, but couldn't quite place it. 

    In any case, he was going back to Hogwarts to prove himself, at least to Ron or the twins. And he could always talk to Harry Potter or their friend Hermione. He was going and there was not going to be anyone to stop him or ruin his importance as one of the representatives of the judges. And that was that. 

  
  


    At least it was warm in the Ministry offices. Percy hung his traveling cloak on the hat rack where the familiar black beret, black umbrella and black peacoat already hung nicely and neatly, leaving plenty of room for whatever he might have had to hang up there. 

    Percy yawned and gazed out the window at the softly falling snow, down five stories and across the street at the cafe. The tables that used to sit on the outdoor porch had been taken inside at the beginning signs of autumn, and nothing was left but the snow, now turned a sort of brownish colour from the tires of the cars below. 

     "Weasley?" called a voice from the main office door. He turned and saw Rook behind the halfway opened door. 

     "Oh, g'morning, sir." 

     "Ah, wonderful! You're in. I needed to talk to you about this whole Triwizard Tournament dance thing or whatever you're supposed to be going to in place of Crouch." Percy repressed a frown and instead gestured for him to sit. 

     "Oh?" 

     "Yes, you'll be needed as one of the judges, as you already know..." Rook was known for his ability to ramble. Rambling Man, they had crowned him behind his back. Percy had often tuned out, not disrespectfully but as a gesture of his surrender to the incoherentness of the conversation. 

     "...so is that alright with you, Weasley?" 

     "Hmm? Oh, certainly. Anything you say, Mr. Rook." 

     "Wonderful. You'll both need to leave on the Hogwarts Express on the 9 o'clock leave. She doesn't have to actually be seen if you don't want everyone to be distracted, you know how she is, but if she begs and pleads, let her dance or something. I'll go tell her now." 

     "Mmm...alright, Mr. Rook." Percy turned back to the falling snow, his mind wandering back to whatever it was that he had been thinking about--oh, the cafe. 

    In the summertime the cafe was filled with patrons from all across Europe, the Greek Muggle students on tour of London, the Parisians came around for the ungodly sport of shopping (he could never understand why they would go to Harrod's when Paris was practically the centre of fashion in the world. Yet another interesting fact from the mind of Penelope Clearwater.), and the Americans came simply for the culture. 

    The winter made it difficult for the cafe to get very many customers, maybe a few Americans who couldn't stand the weather, or some Italians every now and then, but without the writers and the artists who came to capture the buildings and the people, the cafe wasn't as inviting. 

    Sounds of the door opening again brought Percy's mind back to the office. What did Rook want now? 

     "Sir?" 

     "Oh, Hemmingway." He turned the chair to face her. Hemmingway looked very pleased, as though she had just heard that her birthday was a month early this year. "Did you need something?" The girl hesitated slightly, as though making a decision in her head, before rushing forward and throwing her arms around him, nearly toppling the chair over backwards. 

     "Oh, thank you, Sir!" she gushed. 

     "Wait...what...all this--WHAT FOR?!" he cried, trying to wrestle out of her embrace before she choked him to death. He struggled to regain balance in the chair. 

     "For agreeing to let me go with you to the Yule Ball at your old school!" There was silence for a minute or two, and finally Hemmingway let go of him and gave him a concerned frown. 

     "When did I agree to that?" he said slowly and seriously. 

     "Oh! Just now," came the reply. The weight of her words hit him dead on and he made a mental note--along with a few obscenities toward the general advice of the masses who had knighted Rook as the Rambling Man--to never again ignore Cosmo Rook.


	4. Part Four

Disclaimer: The only person I own here is Hemmingway. All other characters and places belong to Joanne Rowling. So ha. 

**Author's Note: This is dedicated to Claudia, who might (I hope I hope!) illustrate this story for me, as her pictures are the reflections of my imaginations. Maybe we're the combined reincarnation of somebody, jeez. We've got so much in common it's frightening. Thanks goes to Cassie for beta-reading this and coRecting al mi mystaykes. .,HeE he;e!**

    Percy glared at his companion on the opposite seat. Hemmingway was, as usual, humming merrily, totally oblivious to him, reading a book entitled A Farewell to Arms, of which he had never heard before. Of course, it was all very logical if it were by a Muggle author, she had said she was related in some distant way to the writer of famous books or something. 

    He continued his pretense of ignoring her, staring out the window at the passing countryside, now being freshly dusted white by a light snow. In a few hours they would reach Hogsmeade and he wouldn't have to constantly be looking at her. 

    It wasn't that she was unpleasant to look at, no, she had very lovely hair and the cutest little upturned nose--he mentally shook himself to clear his head of such thoughts. 

    She's your secretary, screamed something at him. I know, the told the voice, believe me I know. I've known for a long time and it's not something one can easily forget. He sighed and stared tensely out the window, concentrating as carefully as one can in such a situation, but half his mind was still on what he had just heard himself think. 

    Life was never easy for a Weasley was his father's favourite saying. And how true indeed that was, if not only for much financial problems but social status as well. His thoughts returned to his overenthusiastic start at the Ministry under Mr. Crouch and he almost laughed out loud. 

    He had been putting in 80 hours a week at first simply to get in with the elite group that was Mr. Crouch's circle of personal assistants. And Percy knew what Mr. Crouch had been saying about him. 

    _"That Weatherby, so enthusiastic. Perhaps a little overenthusiastic, at that."_

    That was certainly the Percy everybody knew, and he laughed at the image he had painted with the wildest and brightest colours he could find that seemed so blase to everyone else. 

    A disgusted sigh to his left gave him cause to look up. Hemmingway's humming had ceased, and she was wearing a rather sour look upon her normally congenial features. 

     "What's the matter, Hemmingway?" he said, simply so he didn't look stupid staring at her. She tossed the book onto the seat beside her and rolled her eyes. 

     "Rummy lot, that Ernest. Apparently my very distant Muggle cousin to whom I am almost not related was commended for his excellent use of strong, short sentences, but I have seen no evidence of this so far." 

     "Oh." Percy glanced at the cover of the book beside her. "I thought you spelled your name with two 'm's. He spells it with one." 

     "Ah, yes. Wizarding problems back in the early branches of our family. There were some disputes over money, and all that. I am of the understanding that members of the family got into a fight and some ended up with misplaced limbs here and there." Percy hesitated. 

     "Oh." 

    They lapsed back into silence, and Percy suddenly came to a rather disturbing conclusion. There was nothing else for them to talk about. They weren't friends and coworkers who got along on both aspects amicably. They didn't go to lunch meetings together and such things as assistants and their personal secretaries probably did. 

    Would that be considered bad relations on his part? A chilling fear rose up out of him. If Mister Crouch got wind that he was neglecting his personal relationships with coworkers he would be most angry. 

    Percy frowned at this. Of all the things that could happen to him, that was probably the worst of all. He sighed and weighed whether or not to try and continue the conversation. 

    He glanced up, and caught her blinking curiously at him. 

     "What?" 

     "Oh, nothing, sir." 

     "Nothing, my foot. Out with it, Hemmingway," he said lightly, almost smiling. She half glared, half smiled at him and replied, 

     "I was simply watching you think." 

     "Watching me think?" he cried, almost indignantly. 

     "Yes, you have this most peculiar thinking face, you frown; then you sort of look worried; then you get an idea, I suppose, and everything seems to be alright." 

    Percy raised an eyebrow, about to ask if she always watched him like that, when he remembered he was supposed to be ignoring her. 

    When more familiar sights of a house or barn here and there began to appear, Percy donned his wool cloak and gathered the papers he had been sorting through much earlier. 

    They departed from the station together in silence and trudged heavily through the snow that had begun to fall more thickly. 

    They finally stopped in front of the 3 Broomsticks, predictably crowded on Christmas Eve. Percy glanced at his watch as they squeezed over the threshold, noting the 2 hours before their presence was requested at Hogwarts. 

    Setting the suitcases down, he looked around the large and cheerfully decorated pub. The place was practically full to bursting, obviously everyone was in town to see wizarding relatives, but apparently the proprietor was rummaging around in the back room for something. 

    Hemmingway seemed anxious at the sight of so many people, so much hustling and bustling and noise and faint drunken singing in the background; she stuck close to him, practically hanging on to his arm for dear life. He smiled down at her for a fraction of a second, almost glad she was clinging to him. 

    Percy couldn't recall if he had ever been in the pub many times, most of his memories of Hogsmeade consisted of going ice skating with Penny (or the prefects), going into the shops with Penny, waiting while Penny tried on dresses, and waiting while Penny talked with her friends. 

    Eventually, though, a buxom young blonde in what looked like excrutiatingly painful blue stiletto heels came out to meet them. If he hadn't known better, Percy would have thought her to be the type to offer herself out as some kind of a-- 

     "Can I help you two?" she asked in a pretty little voice. 

     "Er--," began Percy. He considered a moment exactly what he was requesting, and exactly what he and Hemmingway looked like. Probably like a couple of kids who were...no, he was requesting rooms. As in two. Plural. Meaning separate. "Two rooms," he called over the noise of the steady din. 

     "What?!" called the barmaid. 

     "Two rooms!" he shouted, hoping nobody would turn and stare. She called back with something unintelligible, and he leaned toward her to hear. 

     "We haven't got two rooms!" she replied. "What with all the people coming in to see their relatives, we've only got one spare room upstairs!" He stood straight up and looked over at Hemmingway, who was gazing with a dazed look on her face at a group of warlocks on the opposite side of the room. Evidently some kind of a drinking contest was going on. 

    In any case, Percy had no idea whether or not Hemmingway would be open to the idea of sharing a room. He turned back to the blonde, trying to make up his mind. It was the only choice, he decided. 

     "We'll take it," he called to her. The stilletoed girl nodded and shoved her way past a bald and rather fat bartender who was guffawing merrily and flirting with a middle aged witch at the counter, to reach for the last key on the board at the back. 

    She pressed it into his hand and he looked at it for a moment. It was an oversized skeleton key made of gold, cold from disuse for many days despite the warmth of the place. The barmaid gestured to him and pointed to a set of wooden stairs behind a small christmas tree to the left. 

    Percy turned to Hemmingway, who was staring, entranced, at a bearded warlock, who was downing a tankard of beer amidst the cheers of his companions. She was looking slightly green. When she turned to him, he saw the childishly horrified look on her face, her slight sway back and forth from confusion, and Percy laughed to himself at the sight of repulsion on her face. 

    He tugged at her arm and she gladly followed him over to the stairs, both of them trying hard not to trip over anyone or their own luggage. 

    At last they reached the stairs, a wooden set of rickety boards nailed halfheartedly together in an attempt to add a bed and breakfast to the pub. Obviously Martha Stewart didn't live there, he thought, remembering Muggle Studies all too well. 

    The hallway at the top of the stairs was dimly lit and made Percy feel like he was in a skewed walls house. There were sets of doors on either side, made of mahogany or some other fancy wood. He didn't care. 

    Percy glanced at the key again, and found the number 7 lodged between the skull's jaws at the end. Hemmingway followed his gaze to the number and then looked at him. 

     "Er--," he began. 

     "Did you know that 7 is your lucky number, sir?" Percy hesitated. Lucky number. Not exactly the best words to hear for a teenager who was about to tell his secretary that they had to sleep in the same room that night. 

     "Um, no. I didn't." He sighed and set the suitcase down. They were standing next to the door with a small gargoyle on the front bearing the number seven between its jaws as well. Certainly a homey place, Percy thought. He looked about anxiously. 

     "Something wrong, sir?" 

     "Yes, yes. Something...definitely...wrong." 

     "Oh, dear. What is it, may I ask?" He looked between her and the door, doing a few double takes and shifting the key from his left hand to his right. Percy wanted desparately to whine and cross his arms and pout for no reason, but Hemmingway was looking at him patiently. So he began. 

     "Well, Hemmingway," he began shortly, "when a pub has a small room letting like this one, sometimes it gets rather..." here he pulled at his collar for emphasis, "crowded, shall we say...er, during the holidays. And, um, this particular night happens to be one of the busiest nights of the year. Which means, my good secretary, that this is the last room left in the place. You and I are going to sleep in here." He paused for a moment. "Together. Tonight." 

    Sighing with relief at having said what he had been dreading to say, Percy looked at Hemmingway for a response. Throughout his little speech, he had noticed the expression on her lovely features change from worriment to confusion to slight amusement to what was unmistakeably indignation. Something that Hemmingway never expressed. 

     "What?" she said simply. Percy put his hands on her shoulders and enunciated clearly and very slowly. 

     "This is the last room. Do you want the bed or the floor?" Her mouth fell open in uncharacteristic shock. 

     "Sleep on the floor? Sleep on the floor?!" she said. "I am not going to sleep on the floor!" Percy shrugged. That was just what he needed to hear. As long as he didn't have to sleep with her-- 

     "You aren't going to sleep on the floor, are you?" He turned to look at her again, the key turned halfway in the lock. 

     "Of course I am. I wouldn't want _you_ to sleep on the floor, you know." Percy swung the door open and held it for her to pass over the threshold. She gave him a look of utter disbelief. 

     "And make me feel like I'm putting you out?" 

     "Putting me out?" 

     "Who is paying for all this, sir?" she said warily, dropping her carpet bag and crossing her arms. 

     "The Ministry!" he sputtered indignantly. "What, you think I could pay for a room?" 

     "Well, you are the boss here. You're the one whose presence was requested at Hogwarts, you know." 

     "But you're a lady!" 

     "So? You're the boss!" 

     "I'm not your boss!" 

     "Oh, yes you are!" 

     "Well, you're not sleeping on the floor even if I am your boss, so there!" 

     "Well, you're not sleeping on the floor even if I'm a lady, so ha!" 

    And, having said thus, they both managed to grab their suitcases at the same time and somehow squeeze through the narrow doorframe simultaneously. 

    Of course, this rather selfless maneuver on both parts resulted in four bruised shoulders and a scraped knee, but it was no matter. They would both sleep comfortably, if not because of the bed, but more because they were each satisfied that they had defended the other to their greatest ability. 


	5. Part Five

Disclaimer: I own no one except Hemmingway and the big giant bed. All those other people belong to JK. 

**Author's Note: So sorry this took so long to post, but I've been having problems with ff.n lately, I couldn't get the server to come up. This is the longest part so far, I think, and I'd just like to thank Claudia for her beautiful drawings and her constant nagging of me to finish this; if it hadn't been for her and Cassandra Claire you wouldn't be reading this right now. **

    Percy stood before the mirror on the vanity and looked about the room from within the reflection. The tall four poster bed stood magnificently behind him, with its ancient sky blue velvet hangings and emerald green comforter. He wished Hemmingway would stop fussing over her hair in the bathroom so they could get out of the room as quickly as possible. 

    Anywhere he turned he could see the reflection of the bed beyond his own reflection, standing there looking vague and distant in his brand new navy blue dress robes. He hated the fact that it was constantly there, ever so deep and full and richly coloured. It was too perfect, and that irritated him. 

    He fidgeted, wondering who was coming by coach to the station to take them to Hogwarts. Percy frowned at his reflection, trying to think of something else to stew and worry about; it was the only thing that could keep him from paying close attention to the bed and his own sanity. 

    What was taking her so long? he wondered, licking his palm and brushing it through his hair. The mass of bright red hair just stood stubbornly upward in something of a cow lick. He sighed irritably and began rummaging through his sachel, looking for a comb. 

    As he pulled the brush through his red locks, Percy wondered what colour dress robes Hemmingway would be wearing. Probably crimson or some bright colour that set off her hair. 

    Vivian Hemmingway sighed, adjusting the sleeves of her ruby dress robes anxiously and staring at herself in the mirror. Her long and wavy black hair was done up in a loose knot towards the back of her head; she looked positively stunning, but she was feeling quite sick. 

    How had it all come down to this? She had been so excited to come along on this trip with him, so glad to be able to see what a wizarding school looked like as she herself had never gone to magic school. 

    True, she had her wand and could work a magicographer, both tricks she had learned from relatives here and there while her parents had travelled the world nonstop, never reaching out to her in any manner. But this was not to say that she was unhappy. 

    To be quite exact, Vivian was very happy. She had no siblings, and was somewhat spoiled, but it never hampered her intentions to be good and wise and sweet. Even though it was really hard sometimes. 

    Especially now that she was around him. She knew he was not 5 feet away from her, standing in the main part of the room they were sharing after the Yule Ball; she had retreated to the unusually large water closet to get ahold of herself after practically throwing a hissy fit at her own boss. 

    There was nothing she could do to prevent the situation, neither one of them wanted to sleep on the floor and this was the last room, but there was just that uneasiness in the air. At least the Yule Ball could distract her. Vivian took one last deep breath, stepped over to the door and turned the handle. 

    The snow had stopped falling when they reached the station once more. The sky was a velvet black spritted with gleaming silver spots of stars, like someone had poked holes in the velvet. Hemmingway was following Percy obediently along the sidewalks through the thick snow to the train station. 

    He was wishing that for just once the train station was directly at Hogwarts instead of Hogsmeade. It was a foolish decision, said something in the back of Percy's mind, but he was too cold to be worrying about the validity of his own wishes. 

    Percy noted out of the corner of his eye the hurried manner Hemmingway walked. She was having a difficult time keeping up with him, but they would be incredibly late if they didn't hurry. 

    When they reached the station the snow had begun to fall once more, picking up speed as the seconds ticked by. Percy glanced down the lane beyond the barrier to look for the carriage, but the visibility was growing worse and worse with both the snow and the darkness. 

    The personal assistant finally threw up his hands in dispair and irritation, sighing despondently and slumping onto one of the benches. Hemmingway, catching up with him at last, peered anxiously down the road, her breaths coming in long white clouds. She squinted, glanced at Percy, squinted again, then came over to sit down next to him. 

    White feathery bursts of snow were falling on them, neatly and quietly, but very frigid. Percy shivered. This was not good. Definitely not good at all. He turned to ask Hemmingway what time it was, when he saw that she had brought her umbrella along and was sitting beneath it, not a speck of snow on her. 

    He watched her for a few minutes in a sort of awe. Percy hadn't really looked her over when they had left the Three Broomsticks, time was of the essence and he had just paid attention to the fact that she either walked slow or had very short legs. 

     "Oh, I am so rude, aren't I?" she cried, turning to look at him with an almost scared look on her face. 

     "Rude?" Percy was about to ask, when she suddenly slid across the bench to sit right next to him, shoulder to shoulder. He almost jumped in surprise at her movement, and looking up at the thousands of tiny white lights in the interior of the umbrella, he became very dizzy. The world suddenly magnified itself and he turned to see something very strange in great, great detail. 

    Hemmingway's long, dark, thick curls had been pulled up to the back of her head, but some of them had escaped the knot and graced her translucent, off-cream cheeks. Percy suddenly had the notion that if he had had a pair of scissors at that moment, he would reach over and snip one of those delicate curls away from her face to keep in a dresser somewhere. 

     "I hope you aren't cold, the umbrella should block most of the snow," she said softly, her voice sounding loud to his ears in the silent night. Her eyes were wide and sparkling, he had never really seen her so up close. 

     "Oh, thanks," said Percy. Something very bizzare was happening, he wanted desperately to tell her, but for some reason his mouth wouldn't open. Thankfully, however, the sounds of an approaching carriage jolted them both out of whatever it was that was affecting them and they stood quickly, brushing the snow off themselves. 

    He sighed with relief, glad to at least hear the blasted thing, when-- 

     "Oh, no..." Coming up the lane to meet them, in a large brown Hogwarts carriage, with his round, smiling and warm face stuck out the window, was none other than-- 

     "Percy Weasley!" Ludovic Bagman, he thought sourly. 

     "Mr. Bagman! What a pleasant surprise to see you driving up the road!" cried the personal assistant sarcastically as the carriage rolled up to stop in front of them. Fortunately, Bagman missed his tone of voice. 

    Ludo threw open the door, beaming at both of them. Sighing, Percy gave his hand to Hemmingway, who had been closing the black umbrella hastily, and clambered in after her. 

     "So sorry I'm late," apologized the Head of Magical Games congenially and rubbing his hands together, "The judges had a meeting and I couldn't be spared." 

     "Oh, that's...alright, I suppose," said Percy after some time. He glanced over at Hemmingway, who was intent on staring insipidly out the window, and was glad they weren't sitting under the umbrella anymore. 

     "Ah, it's really a relief to everyone's conscience to have you here, Weasley," said Bagman suddenly. His voice sounded oddly strained. Percy wanted to stick his head out the window to catch his breath, it was hot in the carriage and the last thing he needed was to be sick. 

     "Oh?" he managed to gasp. 

     "Yes, you certainly..." Bagman searched for the right word, "fill Barty's place well. You're really going in his footsteps, aren't you? Yes, yes, quite wonderful." Percy wished he would shut up. Ludovic Bagman was really getting on his nerves, but he had to retain his facade of Percyness and continue the conversation. 

     "I thank you, Mister Bagman," he replied casually. Ludovic cleared his throat and motioned for him to lean in closer, to say something important. He was giving Hemmingway a significant look, and much to Percy's vague amusement it was lost on account of her not paying any attention to them. 

     "They say," Bagman whispered conspiratorily, "that there's a lot of tricky business going on with that family, and that Barty's son might be--" here he paused for emphasis--"...alive!" 

    Percy's face remained absolutely deadpan. This was not news to him, he had heard it from several questionable sources, and had heard it denied countless times. In fact, he decided to be so bold as to roll his eyes dramatically when Bagman turned to Hemmingway to apologize for the drive being so rough (she had stared at him, scandalized, until he turned back to talk to Percy). 

     "Oh," said Percy after some time. Bagman didn't seem at all fazed over the fact that his reaction to this epiphany of news wasn't the greatest, he seemed to like to hear himself talk. Oh, but talk he did. 

    Ludovic Bagman had to yammer on endlessly about all the rumours he had been hearing since he had returned from the Goblet of Fire ceremony and how he had just LOVED being the announcer for all the Triwizard Tournaments and blah, blah, blah, thought Percy. 

    It wasn't until he realized the carriage had stopped when Percy finally started paying attention to his surroundings. 

     "Ah, we're here at last!" exclaimed Bagman jovially, opening the door for Hemmingway, who practically jumped away from him and out of the carriage. 

    Percy stared up at the stone castle and its surrounds resolutely. This was his big opportunity to show everyone, especially his brothers, that he was a meaningful and important assistant to Mr. Crouch, missing in action or not. Things were going to go right, he thought as he hurried in with his arm across Hemmingway's shoulders against the snow, if heads had to roll for things to be that way. 

    The Great Hall was smaller than he remembered, but it was still as awe-inspiring as ever, with its small Christmas trees and sparkling fairly lights all about. Hemmingway blinked in the sparkling white lights, removing her muffler and hanging it over one of the chairs at the judges' table. 

    Percy unwrapped his cream colour knitted scarf, still looking all about, and placed it next to Hemmingway's. As he stood directly beneath the centre of the enchanted ceiling, Percy could almost hear himself getting older by the second, it was so quiet. He stood there, contemplating the kinds of things the twins and Ron would say when they saw him. 

    Presently, however, his thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of the doors opening as two adults entered the room. 

     "Professor Karkaroff, you know 'ow much ah deeslayke zees two 'Ogwarts champeeons beezniss. Eet ees jahst so..." the towering woman wearing black satin paused, and Percy caught a glimpse of a tall and very thin older man, obviously irrtated at having such an imperious woman but with a dignifiedly bored expression on his bearded features. 

    His expression immediately improved, however, when he caught sight of Percy. 

     "Ah!" he cried, smiling as only a weasel could, "You must be Meester Crouch's asseestant!" Obviously Bulgarian, thought Percy as he smiled affected and nodded. "I am Igor Karkaroff, and zis is Madame Maxime. Ve are ze ozer judges," he said clearly. 

     "Oh, pleased to meet you both," said the personal assistant, "I'm Percy Weasley." Madame Maxime gave him an imperious nod and was about to continue her ranting about something when Karkaroff gave Percy another nasty grin. 

     "So...Meester Crouch, eh?" he laughed coldly, and Percy suddenly wished that Hemmingway was standing by his side. "Yes, I haff heard a lot about him lately. Haff you verked vith him much?" Percy opened his mouth to answer, and to his relief the doors opened and the room was filled with the sounds of laughter and amazement as the students poured in. 

    Headmaster Dumbledore and Ludo Bagman, conversing seriously, approached the table from another entrance and stood smiling at the masses that were slowly and surely filling the circular tables that had been set up. 

    But where was Hemmingway? Percy craned his neck over students' heads, but there was no sign of her. Feeling slightly panicky, he pushed his way through hordes of talking students, searching for her desperately. 

    At last, however, he spotted her trying to make her way past the champions without being noticed, just as Professor McGonagall shut the doors. As she crouched low, trying to avoid peoples' gazes, he frowned slightly and pulled out the chair next to him just as Harry Potter walked by with a girl he didn't recognize. 

    Hemmingway was five feet away from the judges' table when Percy glanced quickly up to see Harry's surprised expression staring back at him, and to both Hemmingway and Percy's great surprise and annoyance, the boy took the gesture as a cue and planted himself firmly in Hemmingway's chair. 

    Percy could not for one second imagine why on earth Harry seemed intent on the fact that it was an invitation for him, but seeing the expectant look on the boy's face as if he had something to say, decided to see if he could bore in himto taking a different seat. 

     "I've been promoted," he said smugly. It worked like a charm, Harry was already scanning the crowd for another seat. If Percy had to suffer through dinner without Hemmingway, Harry would suffer through dinner with him. 

    He decided to let his irritating wrath loose full force, blabbering on to the table plus occupants without even really thinking about whatever it was he was bragging about, it didn't matter as long as it sounded like it made him look good. 

    Finally, however, Dumbledore began the food consumption ritual by ordering pokr chops, Harry chose goulash and Percy had a filet minion, quite a rare dish for him. Soon the small polite conversations began, something he didn't care to partake in as he was too busy keeping an eye out for Hemmingway. 

    Just as the Headmaster was making a light remark to Karkaroff about being up late and finding a room he had never seen before or something, Percy spotted her. Hemmingway was perched precariously next to a tall black girl and her blonde friend, look all around the room. 

    Percy was about to try and catch her eye to signal her over whe the two most familiar people he had ever seen practically bounced into view and sat down next to the girls she was sitting with. 

    Hemmingway was sitting with Fred and George. 

    He frowned most deeply, vowing to take his revenge somehow. If Hemmingway met his brothers and mentioned that she was with him, they'd tease him to no end and then Mum would start asking about Penny again... 

    He practically choked just thinking about the possibly dangerous events that could ultimately doom him. The personal assistant gulped down the last bit of food just as the lights began to dim. Everyone was standing up to get a better view of what was going on up front and Percy took the opportunity to sneak past everyone in the hopes of reaching Hemmingway before something disastrous occured. 

     "Sir!" she cried when he slid into the chair next to her. He hushed her and pointed up to the large crowd. 

     "Why are you sitting here?!" he whispered madly. 

     "What do you mean?" 

     "What do I MEAN?! Those two redheaded chaps are my brothers, they're twins!" She nodded seriously and her eyes grew wide. 

     "So I noticed..." 

     "Listen, you've got to get away from this table." The music was growing louder as more and more people joined in the dance. Hemmingway looked worried. 

     "Why? Am I in grave danger because I'm sitting with your--" and it suddenly dawned on her. "Ooooohhhh..." He nodded quickly and took her hand. "Wait, where are we going?" 

     "Back to the judges' table, I don't want them to see you and start asking questions," he replied irritably. They strode quickly across the floor, dodging several couples and a few teachers here and there, but no one stopped them to make inquiries. 

     "Oh, this is where you sat. It's too bad that boy had to sit here with you. By the by, who was he?" Percy grabbed his muffler off the chair next to him and flung it over the back of the one he was sitting in. 

     "Who?" She leaned across the narrow table on her elbows casually. 

     "That boy," she insisted. 

     "Harry?" 

     "I guess that's his name. The one with the glasses and the strange hair?" 

     "He doesn't have strange hair! It's just that he never does anything with it. And that's Harry Potter you're talking about." 

     "Ah, I thought I recognized the glasses. He's shorter than what all the newspaper pictures make him out to be. Do you know him?" 

     "Friend of my brother." 

     "Brother? You have siblings?" He paused for a moment. 

     "Of course." 

     "What are their names?" Percy picked up a piece of tart and sat taking it apart layer by layer while he answered. 

     "Let's see...there's Bill, Charlie, then me, Fred and George (they're the twins, the ones you were sitting with, rather rummy lot there), Ron, and Ginny. I think Ginny's here tonight, but I haven't seen her yet." 

     "Goodness! How many is that in all, seven?" 

     "Oh, yes. Weasleys are known for having huge families. Don't know why, though. Tradition, I suppose. Don't you have any brother or sisters?" She smiled faintly as they watched the band. 

     "No, I'm an only child. It must be nice having so many people in your house, I would get lonely if I didn't have such a small flat." Percy stared at her. 

     "Are you nuts?" he cried, "I'd kill to live by myself! It's awful having to share a house with so many people! Always barging in on you, constantly interrupting you at dinner, making all kinds of racket while you're trying to work, terrible experience." 

    Hemmingway smiled again. "You really think so? I bet you'd be glad to have a big family after you start living by yourself for awhile." They sat without speaking for a few moments as the music died down to a slow, dreamlike melody. 

     "You're probably right, but it would be nice to live alone for a little while." 

     "I'd want to have a nice house full of people. Always coming and going, warm and full of noise and bursting to the brim with...I don't know, goodness, I suppose." 

     "We're so opposite, aren't we?" 

     "Quite, sir." 

    It wasn't until late that they finally left Hogwarts amidst the farewells of the judges and a few teachers. Percy and Hemmingway climbed into the carriage that had been waiting for them, Ludovic Bagman-free, and set off on their merry little way back to Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks. 

    And that was when the trouble began. 

     "Do you want the left side or the right side?" asked Hemmingway as they entered the room, removing her muffler once more along with some bobby pins from her hair. Percy felt the familiar ice coat his insides that had disappeared during the Yule Ball. 

     "Er, it doesn't really matter to me," he offered vaguely. Feeling like he was going to be rather nauseated by the thought once more that he had to share *that* bed with *that* girl, Percy retreated to the closet when Hemmingway shut and locked the water closet door. 

    When at last he had removed the dreadfully heavy woolen dress robes and donned a maroon pair of pyjamas, Percy had gotten over the worst of his sickness. Yawning widely, he removed his glasses and turned back the covers of the four post. 

     "Ah-ha," he said, turning back, "My teeth." As it was customary for him to wait to brush his teeth, Percy had no problems at all with leaning against the wall. The door opened eventually, though, and Percy saw a blurry image of Hemmingway before he practically jumped out of his skin. 

     "WHAT THE--?" he cried, and blinked. Plastered quite neatly and thickly (as far as he could tell) across her face was a rather greenish looking concoction of some face cream or something. 

     "Oh--cucumber gel. Rather nasty stuff, but I'm supposed to put it on before I go to bed." She breezed past him, and he, shaking his head, sighed and closed the door behind him. 

    Yawning once more and glad that the day was over, Percy rubbed his eyes blearily and pulled back the covers on the bed once more. He turned to Hemmingway, and was very relieved to see the face cream had disappeared. She was reading a book, he could tell, but couldn't see much else. 

     "Are you quite finished?" he asked kindly, and she set the book down and turned out her light in response. 

     "Goodnight, Sir." Percy paused a moment, trying to picture in his mind what they probably looked like. Two teenagers edged as far away from one another as possible, almost falling out of the bed. The moonlight peeked through the curtains that had been shut earlier, and the fire was ever so slightly beginning to turn to embers and ashes. 

     "Goodnight, Hemmingway," he said, and pulled the covers over his head. 


	6. Part Six

Disclaimer: I think we all know this one by heart, people. Come on, why do you want to sue me? Percy Weasley, Hogsmeade, the Pond and the Prefects belong to JK Rowling and her pet goose, Goosio, the beloved Maltese children's cartoon character.   
**Author's Note: Despite the fact that Honoria is supposed to be studying for her finals, she has been working furiously to complete this ever since she got her computer back and has had a 3-day break due to black ice on the roads. Know that I went to Hell and back trying to write this, people. Thanks goes to everyone who has reviewed installment 5 or beta-read or helped me sort out my thoughts. Thank God for Ragtime.**

_"In the meantime, in between time, ain't we got fun?"_

    

He was walking through a grove of cherry trees, making his way slowly up and down the rows. The sun shone down on him brightly, the air was warm and clear, and there was no one in sight. 

    The boy sighed contentedly, his hands in his trouser pockets; looking all about. The trees seemed to emanate contentedness and the world was just right for anything. Birds sang overhead and the sun's position in the sky told him fall was far from being just around the corner. 

    Breathing deeply to catch the smell of the cherries once more, he found himself practically choking on something unbearably stifling; he couldn't see anymore, the sun and trees and sky were gone, but there was still the loveliest of scents and that horrible opression-- 

    Percy jolted awake. Pale streams of early dawn fell through the bedcurtains, across the covers and onto the pillow his head was resting upon, throwing it into a shiny black mirage. And then it slowly dawned on him. 

    Living flat across his face, like thick, black streams of water rippling in the icy light, were the long wavy tresses of Hemmingway. 

     "Oh, great..." Pulling the thick strands from his face, Percy proceeded to tuck Hemmingway's hair back onto her side of the bed. And another revelation struck him. Hemmingway was not on the respective side of the bed she had been on the night before. 

    But then again, neither was he. They were both in the center of the bed, covers pulled up to their chins and bedcurtains pulled tight to block out the cold; Percy was very vexed at her audacity and would have woken her simply for the task of chiding her moving around all night. 

    Of course, it didn't help that he wasn't on his side, either, but it was still very strange to have gone to sleep the night before inched as far away from the girl as possible, only to awaken and discover she was practically slumbering with her arms thrown around his ribcage. 

    Percy looked down at her carefully. So she was sleeping with her arms around him, in an almost protective sort of way, but rather awkward. Sweet, nonetheless; he smiled down at her, wistful, and almost didn't catch himself bending his head to see if her hair really smelled like cherries. 

    He pulled back almost instantly, feeling guilt, regret, and something he couldn't quite place, but was very sharp. It was definitely not a Percy-ism, and the feeling of uncertainty and uneasiness grew until he remembered he was trying to get away from her. 

    Percy winced and tried to free himself from her. She had her arms around him very tight, it was true, but he surely didn't want to wake her. He tactfully attempted to slide out from her clasp, but her arms tightened their hold and it was not possible. 

     "Oh, come on, dear...your boss needs his arm back--heh, heh...no, no--no, must have it back! Ye--Come on! Yes, let go of me! Theeere you go...no, that way! Silly girl..." Percy was about to swing his feet onto the floor and throw open the curtains in celebration of his freedom from Hemmingway when he heard something very peculiar, and turned his head. 

    Leaning closer to her face, he detected signs of a faint smile on her lips. She was giggling, trying very hard not to, but failing miserably. He sighed, disgusted, and shoved her over to the other side of the bed. Hemmingway's giggles turned into full-out, uncontrollable laughter very quickly. 

     "Why did you do that?" he asked insistently, trying hard not to laugh with her commotion. She wiped a few tears from her eyes and coughed. 

     "Oh, I'm so sorry, Sir." She laughed. "You have the oddest looking cowlick, I'm sorry!--I couldn't help but laugh!" He irritably reached up to jerk the cowlick out. She laughed again and threw open the bedcurtains on her side of the bed. 

     "Isn't it lovely!" she cried, stretching her arms upward and moving to the window. 

     "What's lovely?" asked Percy carefully, still sitting on the covers while cleaning his glasses on his dressing robe. 

     "Why, the morning, of course!" she replied, spinning to smile contentedly at him and then turn back to the window. The sunlight fell across her face and into her arms, almost like a Madonna and Child, thought Percy as he watched her. 

    Did she know he had been watching her feign sleep? The thought of any distinction in her mind between a struggle to get away from her and amicable dazedness from just having woken up sent cold spells throughout his nerves. 

    In any case, he was finally going home after having spent 48 hours under her blue and watchful eyes. Percy was about to start packing his things when Hemmingway, not turning from her post at the window, said, 

     "You know, sir, the train isn't running today." He stopped folding his shirt. 

     "What?" 

     "The train's not running." 

     "And why not?" he said, arms akimbo. She didn't frown, but oddly enough, wasn't smiling. 

     "The conductor went home to eat his Boxing Day breakfast. It's a holiday. I'm surprised we got on the train yesterday at all." 

     "Oh, bully for him, then. We'll Apparate." A thought suddenly occured to him. 

     "Wait...if we took the train yesterday...but it isn't running today and we have to Apparate, why didn't we Apparate here yesterday?" There was a long pause. 

     "Because, Sir," said Hemmingway with a sigh, "Hogsmeade is Apparition-proof. There are magical and invisible walls around it." She shrugged. 

     "However you look at it, Sir, we're on vacation. Wouldn't you rather go visiting in Hogsmeade than go back to work?" 

     "Who would I visit in Hogsmeade?" said Percy, hurrying about the room and collecting his things, "I don't know anyone here, they're all at Hogwarts and don't particularly care to see me, anyway." He became aware of the fact that Hemmingway was watching him very closely as he darted from one side of the room to the other. 

     "Are you sure? Don't you want to go ice skating? I hear the pond's lovely." 

    Percy stopped dead in the middle of the room. Ice skating. There was one thing he didn't have to try hard to be good at, and that was it; it brought back a few memories too many of the pre-Percy days. He looked quickly out the window at the now full sun on the horizon. Apparition only took a few minutes, they had all day. 

    What did he have to lose? 

***** 

     "I cannot believe you talked me into this." 

     "What do you mean, I talked you into this? I believe you were the one who suggested it in the first place, Hemmingway. Now come out of there." He heard her sigh softly from behind the partition in the shop. The store bell clanged as a few more skaters entered, chattering and rosy cheeked. 

    Percy had long since donned a light blue pair of speed skates, and was now waiting for Hemmingway to put her skates on. He was very curious as to why she seemed so shy, but was absolutely determined he would go ice skating within the next 24 hours. 

     "But I look awful!" she cried, "I can't believe they make us wear these stupid skirts. It's far too short and I really don't like it!" Percy sighed. Since when were girls so picky about themselves? Oh, now he remembered. Since the beginning of time. 

     "You wear it because you skate. Now, come out." 

     "No." 

     "Hemmingway--" 

     "It's too short!" 

     "At least come out and let me see whatever it is you've got on, for crying out loud. Please," he said when she tried to protest. At last, though, she seemed to consent and he heard the curtain being yanked quickly back. He turned around, saying, 

     "You look fi--" and stopped short, doing a sort of double take. For there, standing in the doorway, inspecting her three-quarters sleeves irritatedly, stood Hemmingway. But it wasn't really Hemmingway, thought Percy. She wasn't the secretary anymore. She was...he couldn't think of a word to describe what she was, from pearl white and silver ice skates to tan hose and simple blue skating skirt. 

     "You're right, it's awful," she said sharply when she looked at him, taking his astonishment for agreement in her indignancy. She was quite wrong, he thought. It was a stunning combination. 

     "No, no! It's...quite nice," he said, watching her turn around and inspect the backs of her skates. 

     "Well, I suppose it should be alright, it's not as though I'm the greatest skater ever." She gave her skate ties one last tug, and stood to go with him to the ice. Percy started across the room, but stopped when he realized she wasn't following him. He turned. 

     "What?" he said, curious. She was giving him a strange look; her head tilted to one side, as if he were walking funny. "What's wrong?" Hemmingway shook her head suddenly. 

     "Nothing, come on." Percy shrugged as she strode past him to the pond outside. 

    Surprisingly, there were very few people on the ice when they finally reached it. It was just as Percy remembered it from Hogsmeade trips on Saturday, wide in both directions and facing the edge of town, away from any houses or shops. 

    Sighing and watching his breath float away in a white encompassing cloud, Percy struck out onto the ice for the first time in a long time, he had to admit. Ah, speed skating. He had never taken real lessons of course, the only way Percy had ever discovered he was remotely good at it was the time the twins tricked him into going to the top of Mount Dismemberment (as they had coined it), the first time he had ever been on skates. 

    Amazingly enough, to his great pride and the twins' great dismay (they were grounded for months after the incident), not only did he go careening down the road on the hill at what was probably record speed for a 10 year old, he found himself running on the skates at the last stretch of the hill and speeding along the paved road at the bottom of it, totally at ease. 

    Percy turned on the nice blue skates, away from the memory of that to see Hemmingway executing a spin on the other side of the pond. Her ponytail swung out behind her in a large brown arc, and the skirt she seemed to like very much now spun around her like a top. 

    It was a strange thing to be skating with his secretary when they were on official Ministry business. Percy glided smoothly across the black ice to where she had stopped and was tugging on the edges of her skates again. 

     "What's wrong?" She grimaced. 

     "Blasted skates, I think they're too big, but I'm not sure." He pulled off his gloves and tilted his head sideways to inspect them. 

     "No, they seem to be fine. Are they too long, do you think?" Percy straightened. Hemmingway leaned forward into the skates and balanced on her toes. 

     "Not really. They just feel...odd, is all. I suppose I'm not quite used to figure skates," she answered. 

     "You don't skate often?" 

     "Not really; I was a spoiled little girl, I played golf." He blinked. 

     "Golf?" 

     "Oh yes, Muggle sport. Men seem to like it more than women, it involves hitting a ball with a large stick." She shrugged slightly. "Brings out the ancient primality, I suppose." 

     "Ah, I think I know what you're talking about. Where did you play it?" She smiled briefly. 

     "Vanguardia Downs, I know that sounds like a race track. It was a...resort, if I remember correctly, my parents took me there over the summers once in awhile. They tried to get me to play tennis, absolutely horrid game. I always lost." 

     "Why do you like it so much?" They were now skating slowly across the ice to view the edge of the town, it was noon and the sun was slanted in the sky. Hemmingway shrugged again and half-blushed. 

     "To tell you...the absolute truth," she said slowly and with an increasing smile, "I liked all those young instructors who wore plus-fours or sports knickerbockers." She laughed melodiously. "They wore the cutest knee-high argyle socks, too..." He rolled his eyes and turned in a huge circle around her. 

     "So you didn't ice skate." 

     "Oh, never after the lessons. I took lessons for a little while; figure skating looks pretty only when you're up to it. I ice skate like I'm on rollerskates, the two are very different sports." Percy looked quite amused with this. 

     "And they teach you to waltz on ice? Or fox trot, perhaps?" Hemmingway blinked and looked pleasantly surprised at his remarks. 

     "Waltz? Fox trot? On ice? What next, shall we tango, then?" Percy skated along on one foot. 

     "Sounds like it would be a bit difficult." 

     "I know how to fox trot on ice, although it takes awhile to get used to it." He grinned suddenly, stopping on his heel. 

     "Do you?" he said. "Oh." The conversation sort of died in the thereafter, and Percy skated off to see if the tree the prefects had planted was still on the side of the pond. 

    He noted later on, however, that Hemmingway had chosen to continue trying to remember some of the spinning techniques she had learned over the years. Percy watched her for a few moments, struck by her gracefulness. Even from a distance, he could see her face, revolving at each half-turn. 

    Hemmingway stuck her toe into the ice and stopped herself immediately. She seemed distressed by something; Percy stopped on his heel to watch her. 

     "Sir!" she called from the great distance. "Si-ir!" 

     "Wha-at?" he replied through mittened hands. She said something he couldn't hear, he skated foward a few feet and she became rather hysterical, calling to him and now he really couldn't hear her. She pointed to his feet. 

    Percy looked down suddenly, totally out of impulse, and in that instant fell, quickly and suddenly into the dark pond. Oh, damn, he thought before he hit unconsciousness, broken ice. 

***** 

    It was after five o'clock when the doctor arrived to inspect the Personal Assistant. Vivian had been sitting in the window, trying her damndest to ignore the comatose Sir on the bed, but had eventually yanked the bedcurtains closed due to her inability to concentrate on the stars. 

     "It is a mere concussion," said the surgeon pompously when he had finished poking her boss on the head, "Nothing to worry about." 

     "Shall I give him something when he wakes up?" she said, wishing he would leave after she had spent half the day wishing he would show up. The doctor adjusted his wire rimmed glasses at this. 

     "Painkillers for the hairline fracture in the ankle, and some food." Doctor had a rather large nose that caused his voice to be somewhat high-pitched and wavering; Vivian had to force herself with great brutality not to burst out laughing whenever he spoke with his wheezing voice. 

     "Oh," he said, just as he turned to leave, "There is a slight chance that the patient may experience slight delusion. It is nothing to worry about as it is from the medicine I have given him, it will go away when he wakes up quite properly. Believe me, although the medicinal properties of the serum are revered among many," here he paused to sniff and straighten himself importantly, "The side effects are sometimes...bewildering." 

    Vivian thanked the MD profusely and shut the door behind him, sighing with relief and almost laughing out loud again. The Sir? Delusional? She couldn't quite imagine such a thing happening. Perhaps one of her other superiors, but certainly not this one. 

     "You won't go absolutely bonkers on me, will you, Sir?" she said, sitting on the bed and lighting a fire with her wand. "That would be quite impossible." Vivian was about to stand and go downstairs to the pub for a spot of dinner when she noticed a slight stirring coming from him. 

    Before she could do anything at all, his eyes suddenly opened, sharply and quickly, and he sat straight up in bed. This was very surprising, but nonetheless, she thought, he was probably better already. He turned, and saw her there. 

     "Hemmingway!" he cried, somehow delighted to see her sitting next to him. 

     "Sir?" she said, completely and utterly confused. 

     "Hemmingway, it is a lovely morning, we should go driving in the country!" he cried in a strange voice. The Sir seemed unusually perky and he was beginning to scare her. 

     "Driving?!" she exclaimed, "Now, really, Sir! You ought to lie down, you've broken your ankle and you've got a lump on your head!" 

     "But I feel wonderful!" he said in a cheerful voice. Now she was beginning to think perhaps she should have suspected him to be the delusional one all along. 

     "Sir..." But she couldn't get another word in. The Sir was feeling chipper and, apparently, harmonious. Before she could stop him, he burst forth into rapturous melody. 

     "Tell me that I'm you're oown, my babyyyy!" 

     "What?!" He gave an elaborate pause. 

     "Hello, my baby! Hello, my honey! Hello, my ragtime, summertime gal! Send me a kiss by wire, honey, my heart's on fire!" She stared at him, openmouthed, his surprisingly clear and beautifully toned tenor voice ringing through the room. Vivian wondered for a fleeting moment if they would be thrown out of the hotel for this. 

     "If you refuse me, honey, you'll lose me! Then you'll be left alone, oh baby, telephone and tell me I'm your ooown!" 

    And with that, he gave an elaborate gesture, threw his arms around her, and did the unthinkable. The Sir, her boss, her superior in everything, the uptight, pompous, dignified stiff who corrected her every move and dictated practically her whole lifestyle, kissed her. 

    This was something totally unexpected and rather...she couldn't think of the word. It was extremely...weird, had she fallen asleep or something? Reflecting on the events leading up to such an odd event, she suddenly realized --for a horribly shocking and heart-stopping half second-- that it was rather pleasant. 

    Though peppermint and basil wasn't exactly the greatest combination, it made for an interestingly cold and very long and slow...well, that was best left unsaid. She had never even remotely considered him the type to be in the "know", as it might have been said, either. Apparently he had (or had had) a girlfriend of some sort, as these things did not come naturally, if her memories did not mislead her. 

    And as quickly and frighteningly unexpected as it had begun, he let go, yawned for what seemed to be a whole minute, fell back onto the pillow, and began snoring very loudly. Vivian stared at his sleeping form until she remembered to close her mouth so she didn't look like a codfish. 

     "You're absolutely bonkers," she said, and sat for a few more minutes watching him sleep before yanking the bedcurtains closed once more and retreating to the pub for a three hour dinner and contemplation session. 

***** 

     "Sir?" What now? he thought. More papers for Mister Crouch? Was he waking up? Oh, it had been a dream. A horrible, horrible dream, Percy mused as Hemmingway's face focused into view. "Sir?" she lay her hand across his forehead. 

     "Hemmingway?" He heard her sigh, was it with relief? "Oh, god..." He sat up, or rather attempted to. Something was most definitely wrong. He was damp and cold and his head hurt and he couldn't move his ankle--oh, someone was going to get it for this. 

    Where in the hell was he? Percy had woken up from some horrid dream that had begun to take on nightmarish qualities, and he couldn't see at all. Had he lost his glasses somewhere along the way back? 

     "Where are we?" he whined. She wouldn't stop pushing on his forehead, it was really irritating and he really couldn't see without his glasses, where were they? 

     "Shhh...you're back in the room. Stay still, you've got a concussion from hitting your head on the ice." Percy couldn't register half of what she had just said, but figured it would be best to do what she told him until she turned her back, maybe then he could make a run for it and go back to the pond to look for his glasses. 

    He lay still for a few moments, trying to measure exactly how much pressure he could put on his hurting ankle before it would give way and trying to remember how far away the skate shop was. Percy let his pupils adjust to the light. 

    The room swam before his eyes; it was dark outside and there was a fire in the fireplace--he _was_ back in the room, lying on the bed with the covers over him. Letting his eyes droop shut, he heard her sigh again and felt her lean on her elbow into the pillow his head was resting on. 

    Maybe he'd stay just a little longer while she was there, he thought. She wasn't as hysterical as usual, and she had put something warm on his forehead. Percy opened his eyes again and gazed blearily into her pair of worried-looking blue eyes. Rather like the pond in summer. He yawned, despite himself. 

    What was she so worried about? 

     "What time is it?" he whispered, barely hearing himself. 

     "Forty after nine, sir." 

     "Don't call me sir..." 

     "We're staying another night, we can't get you home because the trains aren't running." 

     "Why not?" Hemmingway hesitated, and continued in a strangely motherly voice. 

     "Because the man who runs the trains is eating his Boxing Day Dinner." she smoothed his hair back from the lump on his head. 

     "But why?" 

     "Because he must, sir. He must. And you should sleep." 

     "I don't want to..." he was very tired, but he wanted to stay up and talk to her. 

     "Go to sleep, sir." 

     "Don't want to..." 

     "Shhh..." she said nothing more, but kissed his forehead and blew out the lamp next to his bedside. 


	7. Part Seven

Disclaimer: Stay back, all you demonic lawyers. I've got a Disclaimer Cross, and I know how to use it. You know what belongs to JK and what belongs to me, go torment somebody else.   
**Author's Note: After days and days and days of torture, torment, and just plain badness, I'm finally ready to post this. Wow, are we finally up to installment 7? Jeez. Thanks goes to my wonderful quartet of beta readers: George Weasley's Girlfriend, Krystyn Poe, and of course, the ever pleasant, ever present Ninamazing! Yay for all of my girls, you guys did a great job getting through all my mistakes and blunders. **

And now, the moment all you readers have been waiting for (okay, maybe not.) About two weeks before I first posted this fic, I loaded up a story called "They've Got Me Where They Want Me" and asked readers to try and guess who the monologue was being delivered by.   
Well, I looked them all over and was very pleasantly surprised to see so many good answers! However, there is only one TRUE correct answer, and that is, of course, Percy Weasley.   
How could this be? you ask. Well, Ron and Draco were certainly popular answers, as was Harry himself. But Harry has no brothers or sisters, so he couldn't have any nieces or nephews. Draco is an only child (as so far mentioned in the books), so the same applies to him. But Ron? That's a very, very close guess.   
Unfortunately, there is no mention of Ron having any sort of problem with his family at this point in time. On the contrary, look at Percy's job in the Ministry and his personality/lifestyle. He's exactly the kind of character who would be torn between his job and his own beliefs and those of his own family (read the end of GoF and it's plain to see why).   
Here we go with the reviewers who answered correctly:   
metal mouth, Loren Leah, Cassandra "Percy measures his WHAT with a ruler?!" Claire, Starling (Co-Founder of the Percy Lovers Anonymous Society), Sarah Jane (sometimes those inexplicable feelings just hit ya, don't they?), Viola (that's the whole point of the Fedora, to throw you!), and Julia McGonagall. Thanks goes to all who tried their hand at guessing, it was great to see that kind of feedback for my stories. ^_^ 

     "Sir?" Hemmingway's voice echoed ever so slightly in the spacious bedchamber. Percy stirred, hoping she was watching so she would at least think he was making an effort to open his eyes The fire cracked and popped soothingly in the fireplace and had an odd sort of calming effect on him. 

     "Sir..." There was a small pause. He could hear her sigh ever so softly, and wished his eyes weren't so heavy. There was a short rustling of papers. Hemmingway spoke again, and this time he could hear a bit of anxiety in her voice. "Wake up, sir, you've a message, just came by owl." 

     "Hmm?" He frowned and tried to open his eyes again, to no avail. 

     "Yes, an owl. It came just now, you'd better get up and read it." He finally managed to open his eyes, and, blinking slightly in the contrasting light of the room, was surprised to find Hemmingway fully dressed at such a late hour, perched atop a wooden stool and shuffling through several stacks of papers. She peered at him curiously and held out a green envelope. 

     "Who's it from?" Percy was vexed with how hoarse he sounded. He could only hope now that he wasn't getting pneumonia from falling through that blasted ice-- 

     "The Ministry, sir. I'd suggest you read it as quickly as possible," she said as he sat upright and grabbed it from her, ripping it open, "Otherwise you're likely to be in a spot of trouble." 

     "I'm liable to already be in more trouble than I need. At what ungodly hour does the Ministry of Magic decide to grace us with an owl bearing a three page letter?" Hemmingway paused to glance at his wristwatch, still on the nightstand. 

    "Twelve thirty, sir." He sighed. 

     "Well, at least it's not a Howler. Want me to read it out loud? Probably pertains to you as well." 

    "I should not like to trouble you, but yes, go right ahead." He cleared his throat and set his glasses atop his nose. 

"To Percival Weasley, personal assistant to Bartemius Crouch: 

It has come to the attention of the Department of Magical Cooperation that you and your administrative assistant, Miss Vivian Hemmingway, have been absent from your duties at the Ministry of Magic for a total of three days running. 

It is perfectly clear to us that your superior, Bartemius Crouch, sent you to act as his substitute as judge for the Annual Hogwarts Yule Ball and that you are staying in Hogsmeade. Mr. Crouch's present condition maintains that such precautions be taken. We acknowledge the fact that you have completed his requests satisfactorily to a certain degree. 

It has also been taken into consideration that the Hogwarts Express has been closed because of the holidays and because of the substantial amount of precipitation in the area you are currently residing in. 

However, we must insist that you return to your posts immediately, and that you be called before a council to review this trip and the odd manner in which you have chosen to act, including your neglect to inform us of any travel complications and/or problems pertaining to your stay in Hogsmeade. 

We trust that you will return to London as soon as possible in the best of your own interests. 

    Sincerely,   
    Pelham Totleigh   
    Department of Ministry Affairs." 

    Percy set the letter face up on the bedspread and turned from its leering words and flourished signature to stare at Hemmingway resignedly and sigh. He felt cold suddenly; the warmth and friendliness of the fire replaced by an unsettling nervousness. 

     "I should have owled them. I should have, and now I have to go before the board. I should have left yesterday, I should have watched where I was going, I should have..." 

     "Too many 'should have's, not enough 'let's go face the music's, sir. Shall I pack our bags, then?" She slid off the stool and gave him a sympathetic look. Percy frowned and avoided her eyes, gazing out the window at the languid moon. 

     "All right, then. We'll leave as soon as possible." Hemmingway moved beyond his sight to get to the closet. "Wait," he called on a sudden thought, "Does the train leave in the morning? Is there any way we can leave without traveling for so long?" 

    The girl emerged from the back room with their suitcases in hand and papers in her mouth, nodding and attempting to set everything down to speak. A flicker of amusement sparked somewhere beyond his trepidated exterior at the dark circles beneath her eyes and the lopsided hairdo she now wore. 

     "If you're well enough to get up and walk to the edge of town where the Antiapparition Walls are," she answered, "We could Disapparate now and go home. The only reason I didn't mention it before was because of the weather; the edge of Hogsmeade is quite a distance from here. Do you think you can stand?" 

    Percy pulled the covers back and shivered, wishing he had worn his dressing robe over his pajamas. He stood slowly and grasped the bedpost, wincing; his legs shuddered beneath him. 

     "I think so," he said bitterly. She watched him make his way across the room, wide-eyed, with her arms stretched out instinctively for some sort of substantial support. 

    After various attempts, Percy finally managed to stand without hanging on to something; they both decided that leaving as soon as possible would be the best idea, but with Percy's ankle being in the condition it was, it would take some time. 

     "All right, I think that's the last of everything. Do they know downstairs that the Ministry is paying--" Percy cut her off quickly. 

     "Yes, absolutely, Hemmingway. Let's go," Percy insisted, beginning to sound like his old self once more. It felt much better to be able to stand and not have Hemmingway looking after him; it made him feel jumpy and nervous to have someone constantly asking him if he was all right. 

    It was with great care and caution that they left the Three Broomsticks; luck was on their side, for it had stopped snowing for a little while. They had made hasty good-byes to the proprietor and the stilletoed girl, whose over-mascaraed eyes drooped sleepily as she sent them on their way with an amicable wave farewell. 

    The ice on the paths had melted ever so slightly, but the temperature was dropping steadily as they shuffled over the sidewalks under a half moon. The trees hanging precariously over their heads cast sharp, abstract shadows across their path, throwing them into an almost strobe light effect and making Percy feel dizzy. 

     "Exactly how far away is this point from which we can Apparate?" he said, stopping near a signpost to catch his breath. Hemmingway set the suitcases down and sank to sit atop one of them. 

     "Want to sit?" she said, yawning, "It's not much farther, I'm sure." Percy shook his head and leaned against the sign. 

     "Nah, I'll probably just fall asleep, or someth--" he paused to give a jaw-cracking yawn--"Something." He was beginning to feel cold and depressed again; the thought of having to face a board of Ministry officers loomed maliciously ahead. It was one of the many things he had hoped to avoid while in his first year at the Ministry; his perfect record was stained because of one broken ankle. Percy gave a sigh and watched the thin gray cloud of his breath float slowly away into the foggy night. 

    He leaned against the sign once more, and was very annoyed when all the snow slid off the wooden board and straight into the sleeve of his robes. 

     "Oh, this weather--" he attempted to shake it out, but wound up getting his shirtsleeves soaking wet. Percy reached into his robes for his wand, trying to remember the spell for drying something to the point of evaporation, but halted when he saw the look on Hemmingway's face. "What is it?" 

    She gestured to the sign that had caused him such disturbance. He turned, and jumped to see what was written there in faded black paint. 

     "Any witch or wizard of license may Apparate from this point outward by order of the Council of Magic Affairs in Hogsmeade," read Percy aloud, grinning like crazy. 

     "Oh, we can go home!" cried Hemmingway happily; jumping up and lifting the suitcase she had been sitting on, she asked, "Do you think you can make it from here, sir?" She looked at him curiously and waited for his answer. Percy sat for a moment, still looking at the sign. "Sir?" 

     "Hmm? Oh, yes. I'll be fine from here out," he said, straightening and grabbing his own suitcase. Finally, finally, finally. He could go home and have his mother fix his ankle a bit better. 

     "Well," said Hemmingway, "I'd best be off to London, then." 

     "I'll see you in the morning?" 

     "Of course, sir." She smiled, hung the black umbrella over the crook of her elbow, and disappeared with a hollow pop. Percy stood staring at the space she had occupied several seconds earlier, then, shaking his head, took a deep breath and Disapparated as well. 

***** 

    Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee and talking quietly when he arrived, yawning and bleary eyed. Percy stood a few moments and was silent as they murmured in hushed tones to one another, the words _Ministry_ and _letter_ audible at points. 

    He cleared his throat and prepared himself for the onslaught of worriment and overmothering he knew was coming. Both turned and gaped at him for a half second, and suddenly the kitchen was filled with noise and hurriment. 

     "Oh, Percy!" cried his mother, standing quickly and throwing her arms around him, practically choking him. "Oh, you're home! We were so worried about you! Should have owled, don't know what you were thinking...are you all right? Did you get the owl the Ministry sent? What happened?" Percy stared rather blankly at the top of her shock of red hair, wondering why he had never noticed before that she was so short. 

     "Er..." he began, but was interrupted by his father. 

     "Molly, it's one o'clock in the morning. Let him sleep a little, then you can ask him some questions. I'm sure he's fine, dear. Are you all right, Percy?" 

     "I broke my ankle," said Percy, slumping into one of the chairs and taking his glasses off. He could see the grainy outlines of his parents glance at each other quickly before answering. 

     "How did you--" 

     "What were you doing?" 

     "Percy, what happened? Did you call a doctor? Have you got it fixed yet, dear? Shall I make you some tea? Do you want me to fix the bone?" 

     "Percy? Percy, do answer us!" He lifted his head and stared back at them. Sighing for what had to be the hundredth time that night, he said: 

     "I went ice skating and fell through the ice." There was another pause. Mrs. Weasley sputtered a bit, but Arthur set his hand on his wife's shoulder and said quietly, "How is it?" Percy yawned before answering. 

     "Hairline fracture in three places, Hemmingway had a doctor come by and give me some kind of medicine, apparently it made me delirious, can I go to bed yet? I'm really tired..." 

     "Of course!" cried Mr. Weasley, interrupting his wife one more and moving back to let Percy aside. Mrs. Weasley hesitated a bit before nodding her approval. Percy, deciding himself too tired to actually climb the stairs, rubbed his eyes and Disapparated. 

    He pretended not to hear his mother's protests to his father's quiet voice as his eyelids drooped closed once more, he flopped rather than sank into bed, and he slipped into unconsciousness again. 

****** 

     "This matter cannot be discussed anymore, Weasley. We have decided that this must be turned over to your superior." Percy blinked and tried to let the balding man's words register properly in his mind. It was useless. No matter how many cups of coffee one drank, he decided, one could never properly make up for several hours of lost sleep. 

    The sun filtered through the eastern windows in the conference room innocently, reflecting off the long cherry table and throwing flashes of light onto the ceiling. It was too nice to concentrate on anything else, the room was pleasantly warm and the Board Directors' voices so quiet and droning. 

     "Weasley? You are discharged to leave." Discharged? 

     "I beg your pardon?" he said quickly, stifling both a yawn and an icy feeling in the pit of his stomach. A woman wearing green robes and resembling Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts, frowned at him. 

     "You may leave to speak to your superior. We are finished with you here," she replied sharply. Percy stood, nodded his good-byes, and was glad to leave the dreaded conference once and for all. 

    Closing the door behind him, he caught sight of a long and familiar wavy shadow on the maroon carpeting before him. Looking up, he hoped for a horrifying split second that it was Hemmingway, waiting for him in an anxious yet comforting way that she was so good at. 

    To his great disappointment, however, he found himself not looking at his own secretary, but a towheaded girl with misty blue eyes and a wispy pale complexion. He strode quickly past her and shook his head, trying to clear it. 

    It was not long before Percy found himself before a double set of oak doors, repeating the words judgement day over and over in his mind. It couldn't be that bad, could it? He had been very faithful and loyal up to this point, hadn't he? 

     "Here goes nothing," thought Percy, and opened the door. 

    Bartemius Crouch's office was nothing short of a palace, most intimidating to those who had never entered it before. However, it was not what the typical witch or wizard might have thought it would look like had they only known Mr. Crouch by his personality and work style rather than his taste in furniture and botanical interests. 

    Of course, it wasn't totally accurate to credit Mr. Crouch with all the beautiful and rare magical flowers. Percy had been the one paying all the visits to the most expensive greenhouses in England and toting the blasted plants around. He was only glad he wasn't the one who had to figure out Mr. Crouch's excruciatingly painstaking plans for all the purchases made. That task had been left up to someone else. 

    To be quite frank, thought Percy as he strode past a medium topiary statue row of Minister Fudge and a few other important wizards in the ministry, the office was comparable to that of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Who would have thought that someone so stiff and cold would be such an avid horticulturist? 

     "Ah, my beauties!" said a voice to the back of the room, "Drink lots of water! Barty will be very lonely if you don't come back in the spring! Oh, yes he will! Yes he will!" Then again, he thought once more, Mr. Crouch was a very strange man. 

    Percy cleared his throat as he approached the desk. The large brown leather chair turned suddenly, and Mr. Crouch himself, looking rather sickly and guilty, peered at them, a gray watering can between his hands. Correction, said a voice in his head. The man is barking mad. 

    The man blinked several times, as if he didn't quite recognize Percy from the last time he had seen him. Suddenly his features snapped back into a serious look as the Head of Department set the watering can down with a clang. Indeed, he looked as if he didn't recognize his own personal assistant. 

     "Weatherby? Weatherby, is that you?" Maybe not. 

     "Yes, sir. I've come by appointment of the Board of this Department, sir." 

     "Ah, yes," said Mr. Crouch, frowning and looking like the Head of Department he knew, "The Yule Ball trip. You stayed there three days, Weatherby? Too long, I should say." There was a pause. "But you did well, Weatherby, and for that I compliment you." 

     "Er, thank you, sir." There was a creak as the mentioned leaned back into his chair. Percy heard the small sounds of water rushing somewhere in the back of the room. Crouch had a waterfall amidst all this? 

     "Weatherby." 

     "Yes, sir?" 

     "I believe we will overlook this unfortunate matter for the time being. You have done well this past year, and I don't blame you for wanting to stay in Hogsmeade during the holiday season." 

    Percy's eyebrows went up so high that they disappeared into his hair. 

    Mister Crouch? Ignore something so blatant and scandalous? This was most uncharacteristic of him, something the stereotypical Percy would have gasped at and scorned immediately. But there was something about the way Crouch had said it. 

     "There is, of course, a catch," said the strangely kind Mister Crouch, leaning forward in his chair and staring at him acutely. "I will overlook this matter on one condition." Percy hesitated. Was he suggesting blackmail? 

     "What?" A strangely calm smile overtook Crouch's features. 

     "That you obtain and give to me three prime box tickets to Il Trovatore in the London Opera House by next Thursday. 

    "The show begins at seven. Get them and the matter is closed for good. I am giving you the rest of this week off to scour this city in any manner you can think of for those tickets. I do not care if they are sold out. Get them for me." And with that, Bartemius Crouch turned his chair and began watering his plants once more. 

***** 

     "Get tickets to what?!" Percy sat on his desk and looked anxiously to the astounded looking secretary standing before him. "He's NUTS, sir! Absolutely bonkers and barking mad! That show sold out weeks ago, you'll be lucky if you can get even double balcony seats to something like that! What is he going at, sir?" 

    He stared at her a moment before answering. 

     "Believe me, I have no idea. All he said was that I should get the tickets at all costs, no matter what it takes." Hemmingway stood and threw her arms up, sputtering in absolute astonishment. 

     "But--" 

     "Look, we just go and get the blooming tickets. If they're sold out, we'll search the papers for them. It can't be that hard to get opera tickets, can it?" Hemmingway turned from where she now stood to gape at him before bursting into hysterical laughter. Percy frowned and crossed his arms as she collapsed into one of the visitor's chairs. "What's so funny?" 

     "You are!" she cried, giggling like a madwoman and trying to collect herself, "You've never been to the opera, have you? Well, this is certainly going to be the most interesting experience of your years here at the Ministry, I doubt any of the other personal assistants can boast that they scalped opera tickets off the black market!" The last few words of her sentence were almost lost on him as she began laughing once more. 

     "All right, so maybe I don't know anything about getting opera tickets, but really! How hard can it be? All we have to do is look around town if the box offices aren't selling them anymore!" Percy continued, interrupting her as he went. "And surely someone in this office building has to be an opera fan, right? Seriously, Hemmingway, it can't be that hard." 


	8. Part Eight

Disclaimer: The usual routine. Hemmingway belongs to me, Percy does not. Okay, so Hemmingway also technically belongs to Percy, but that doesn't mean JK owns her. **Author's Note:** Three months. Three freaking months to get through this part, everyone. Please note that there is little to no dialogue in this installment, I'm working on my descriptions. No other comments except much thanks to Megan and Cassandra Claire for betaing the first part and Offcentre (Lindsay) for beating me to a pulp to get me to write this (but only so I'd write my epic movie for her). I love you all and hope everyone enjoys this part. The words to the song Desafinado are listed throughout. I highly recommend the song. 

_I've never been in love before..._

    In the minds of those who do not often attend the opera (or never attend performances of any entertainment), it is never taken into consideration the amount of difficulty one meets when attempting to obtain tickets pertaining to such events for other parties who do attend the opera. This was quite true for a certain personal assistant one surprisingly rainy late December midmorning. 

    Why it is that parents never teach their children that the opera is a place for those with seasonal tickets and gold operaglasses is not entirely clear to the onlooking eye. Perhaps it never crosses their minds that someday their child will be in a rather unseemly situation dealing with such things. 

    And so, following in the tradition of mankind and all who are born under an inauspicious sign, all the carelessness of the parentages leads to an adage rather well known throughout the world (let us sum up our dear Percy's situation in a few, if not blatant, words): bad things happen to good people. 

    Therefore, in the chance that certain (and scarcely to be anticipated) meteorological events in the chthonic regions should take place, a poor, unsuspecting commoner, wet behind the ears, so to speak, may encounter the events that young Mr. Percival Weasley crossed paths with one peculiarly strange final week in the twelfth month of the year. 

    He had been searching through written Muggle records of operas and who had been established as a regular attender of such shows for two days straight, and had by no means encountered what he had been looking for. Frustration had set in and Percy decided to leave his loyal secretary and her confusing documents to stroll about the city and clear his thoughts for a moment or two. 

    Percy had passed several small dressmaker's shops and a bookstore and was preparing to enter the district that housed only the most refined restaurants in London. It was approximately eleven forty-five in the morning, and the owners of the shoppes were beginning to place their chalkboard signs, properly guarded from the rain by large blue and white striped umbrellas, in front of their property to announce the daily specials. 

    It was a pleasant part of the city, with tree-lined avenues down the centre of the quiet lane of traffic; apparently it wasn't a well-known circle except to the elite societies, but Percy did not realize this; he was far too busy contemplating his distressing problem. 

    And indeed, it was quite a predicament for him; he had not been able to contact anyone working at the Ministry who would be able to help him in his quest for opera tickets, it seemed as though any wizard working at the Ministry of Magic certainly did not care about the opera. No one had ever even heard of the show he had mentioned. 

    Hemmingway, of course, had stayed back in the office, apparently determined that she should find something to aid his cause. Though she was now of frazzled hair and odd mutterings from not getting enough sleep (something that had caused delightfully smoky halfrings to appear beneath her gloriously blooming blue eyes), she was as loyal and faithful as ever. 

    Percy had passed a small fish monger's front, clattering noises of meat cleavers smacking deftly against cutter's blocks and varied accents of buyers and sellers alike eminating outward from the narrow alleyway, and was about to just turn around and begin his journey back to the Ministry, when he heard a sliver of conversation drift out of the market. 

     "Of course, I'm sure the opera director will have his hands full this weekend, as it's New Year's coming up. I'm certain he'll be off and about attending all those parties he was talking about." A robust middle aged woman with a basket on her arm chatted merrily away with a white-haired friend of hers. 

     "Where did Marienne say he was going to be all night? Or did she not tell you?" 

     "Since he's got the new show opening soon? He'll be all up and down Mulberry Venue, at all those brand new social clubs. I hear every one of them is holding a costume ball in his honour, you know." 

     "Really?" said her friend interestedly. 

     "Oh, yes," said the frumpy woman. Their conversation died on Percy's ears as they strolled arm in arm down the narrow thoroughfare, but this was the best source of information he had received for a week.   
***** 

     "A costume ball?" cried Hemmingway, steadying herself on a chair and looking blearily surprised. "What would the opera director be doing going around to costume balls?" Percy shrugged, waved her protests aside, and pushed his finger against her nose gently so that she slumped into the seat of the chair. 

     "I don't know, and I don't care. But this could be our chance to get those tickets, Hemmingway. I'm certain the opera director would be so gracious as to--" and then it suddenly hit him. "...give us tickets because...Mr. Crouch...is..." 

     "...a Ministry official for a wizarding community," finished his secretary, yawning and tilting her head at him. Percy frowned and sat down on the arm of her chair. 

     "How are we going to get in if the opera director doesn't know us and we have a strange reason for getting the tickets?" Hemmingway cleared her throat softly and gave him an obvious look. Percy shook his head slowly. "No." 

     "Sir--" 

     "No, Hemmingway. I will most certainly not." 

     "Sir, it is the only reasonable way to do it." 

     "No." 

     "Sir..." 

     "Absolutely not. Importune me no longer, Hemmingway. We will find another manner in which to go about this business of getting tickets to some stupid opera we haven't ever even heard of."   
*** 

     "How did I get myself into this?" 

     "Oh, sir...it's not bad, really. You look fine." It was finally New Year's Eve, the night before their deadline to Mr. Crouch, and the sounds of effervescent and chortling Muggle party-goers bubbled their way into the flamboyant cloak room where the two stood, straightening their outfits and looking about themselves self-consciously. 

    Hemmingway gave him an endearing look, wrung her hands together, and adjusted her burnt orange felt beret, seeming totally out of place next to the louder (and considerably older) people who seemed the perfect example of osmosis as they flowed in and out of the cloak room. Percy shook his head at her and fussed with his overcoat as a corpulent woman wearing a large corset and a hat full of plumes bumped her way past them. 

     "I still can't believe what you've done to your hair." She turned from finding a place to hang their cloaks to smile at him prettily and shake her now straight as a stick straw blonde hair at him. Percy watched it sort of shine dully and swirl, a healing zephyr, across her pale oval cheeks, the inexorably straight bangs and part remaining perfectly intact. 

     "It was all for the better! If we were going to dress up like that Bonnie and Clyde from those American Muggle stories, we are certainly to look like them. The only thing I can't believe is that you didn't dye your hair." Percy pulled the light grey driver's hat she had procured for him down lower over his red locks protectively. 

     "How did you do that, anyway?" he said, bending to whisper in her ear. She grinned, and gestured for him to tilt his head even closer towards her, standing on her toes to complete the nearly 15 centimetres that hung in the air between them. Percy leaned in, vividly aware of the oddly intoxicating smell of cherries that seemed to hang about her thickly, like humidity in the air after a long summer rain. 

    She turned in a semicircle, her grey pleated skirt twisting around and bouncing back to its normal place. 

     "Easy. I used a spell, silly. Do you think I'd actually dye my hair this blonde without worrying about reprocussions?" He looked at her for a moment, studying her perfectly cunning smile that matched the way her new hair draped about her neck and shoulders in straight alignment. She blinked twice, looking rather daydreamy and appearing to stare beyond his face, then, lowering her eyes and murmuring something about finding the director, left him to follow her into the interior ballroom where a small orchestra was gathering. 

    Hemmingway immediately began to shimmer from group to group, melting perfectly in with each undulating ripple of middle aged sybaritic Muggles who entered from the lavish lobby, talking and laughing affectedly, not knowing he was sitting toward the back, covered by shadows in a small booth lit with a single dim candle; watching her. She seemed to be moving in slow motion, contrasted with her surroundings; she could turn her head and her hair really did seem to float through the air. 

    Percy looked down at the candle before him, staring at the blueness at the bottom of its plasmatic trepidation of a flame. It was solitary, like him. Solitary while the rest of the world seemed to dance on into the night, forever and ever and ever. Hemmingway came and went, bearing news of something about the opera director. Back in the bustling coat room, pulling his cloak over his costume, explaining to someone who he was supposed to be... 

    Then they were outside in the cold and snow and whitish blue gleaming dampness, Hemmingway's black umbrella covering them in an almost matronising way; shooting stars overhead in the blackness of its womb were all he could see of the Christmas lights. Percy looked up again and saw groups of couples dancing slowly to some piece of music he couldn't hear; the orchestra was playing too softly, or things were becoming more surreal. 

    Shaking his head and hoping that this club would be different from the dozens of others they had already searched; it was growing later and later more quickly, and they didn't have time to waste. Twenty seven clubs in four hours was more than he would ever be able to bear for the rest of his life. How could anybody be as popular and as asked for as the opera director? 

    He was getting sick of just sitting around while Hemmingway was working so hard; she had been so dutiful in the past week. Percy stood slowly and frowned, realising he hadn't eaten anything all night. Glancing about for a waiter, he noticed a large fancifully decorated table with hundreds of glasses sitting atop its perfect surface. 

    Hands in his pockets, Percy slogged over wearily through a break in the dancers. The glasses seemed to twinkle in the colourfully dim lighting, like the stars in Hemmingway's umbrella. Refreshments, said a congenial voice in his head. Go on, take one. He looked around, reached for one with a yellow swirl of a rind of lemon, and began traipsing back to his seat. 

    Once there, he contemplated the slowly fizzing bubbles that appeared every so often inside the flute-shaped glass. Percy looked across the floor to see Hemmingway holding a similar-looking glass in her hand, half empty, talking to a portly-looking white haired man wearing a nice tuxedo. And looked back at his own hand, that had picked up the crystalware on its on for some reason. 

    The bubbles were acrid as they bounced and slid their way down his throat, tasting like rotten green grapes, but it was an oddly calming feeling. He sipped it again, and the taste seemed to grow slightly more tolerant. Percy picked up the glass and held it to the faded orchestra pit lights, watching it swirl about, golden and sparkling and clean. So totally unlike the week had been. Everything from Hogsmeade to getting in trouble with Mr. Crouch...and then the opera tickets... 

    He blinked and sighed, an odd feeling arising in the pit of his stomach. His driver's hat sat unnoticed next to him, yet another solitary figure in the ballroom. Ugh, how depressing, said that same congenial voice. Percy looked down into his hand again and smiled; there was a new glass of a new bubbling liquid that looked rather green instead of yellow. It was magic; the glasses would empty...and fill...and empty...and fill... 

    Percy stopped counting after about the fifth or sixth fluted glass had been taken off the table; it was becoming too difficult and he wasn't very interested in much of anything anymore. He took his glasses off his head and rubbed at his eyes; Hemmingway was suddenly at his elbow, pulling him upward and ignoring his protests, there was cheering all around them and Hemmingway's excited face-- 

     "Sir!" she shouted at him above all the cacophony. He somehow managed to focus on her face, she was holding up three small green slips of what looked (or what he thought looked like, as they were swirling around before him) like paper. 

     "What?" he asked, staring at the papers and trying to fix them in the air before him to read what they said. She gave him a concerned look, and stepped a little closer toward him. Somewhere nearby, a large bell began to ring. 

     "I said I've got the tickets! We're off scotch free, sir! We'll be all right!" Hemmingway placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a slight push backwards. The room suddenly straightened and he shook his head. 

     "Oh?" he said, his voice sounding somewhat far away. Hemmingway responded with something curt, pulled on his arm, and Percy soon found himself standing on the sidewalk next to Hemmingway, his overcoat slick with rain and sleet, the cool air rushing past his face and making him feel much better than he had before. 

    The night was so dark, and the snow was beginning to slowly melt...there was a click of a door behind him. Percy blinked, and turned slowly to keep his balance. Hemmingway was pulling a large red door shut behind her and turning brass knobs all over the place, dozens and dozens of knobs and Hemmingways and-- 

     "Sir?" 

     "Oh, God." Now what? Had the scene changed again too quickly for him to react? What in the bloody hell was going on? He found himself slightly more clearheaded than before, sitting on a divan of sorts next to Hemmingway, who was (if his eyes did not deceive him) looking even paler than usual, if such a thing was humanly possible. 

     "Yes...?" she answered, giving a short laugh and smiling blearily. He grinned back at her. 

     "We're schnocked, aren't we?" His voice sounded hoarse; perfectly so for such a late night conversation. Ever so rasping and yet tired in an amused way. Her diffident smile broke into a grin, and she nodded, throwing her head back against the apex of the long chaise lounge. 

     "Damned if we are, sir." There was a longer laugh accompanying this, and then a lengthy pause. 

     "Hemmingway?" 

     "Mmmm?" 

     "Where are we?" The girl yawned. 

     "My flat." 

     "Oh," he murmured, and there was silence except for Hemmingway's spaced breaths. For the first time, Percy noticed his surroundings beyond his secretary and the couch. Tropical seascapes graced the walls and an aquarium rested in the top of a purposely badly lit table across the room, next to an old tube television, like the kind he had seen in a book about the 1950s. 

    Percy turned and there was Hemmingway again, lying on the couch with her eyes closed in a haphazard way and her still high heeled feet slouched upon the divan. He reached over and picked her feet up gently, sliding across the vinyl couch until he was sitting next to her, her legs flopped lazily across his, brushing his fingers across her forehead and pulling a single damp lock of curled black hair out of her eyes. When had the dye come out of her hair? Or had the spell worn off or had she washed it out? 

    Her eyelids moved, and soon he was staring into circles of dark blue with a black fringe shading them from the overlighting. Hemmingway gazed blankly and sleepily up at him, and he pushed a finger against her nose. She sat up and looked at him curiously. 

    The sound of bubbles came like a zephyr through the air; the aquarium table in the corner really did have fish in it, he noticed. He turned his head and there was Hemmingway, then the walls, now with scenes of the world splashed across them, Hemmingway, the old television, a room beyond Hemmingway's head, and there she was again. 

     "Hemmingway?" he whispered. She blinked twice, almost closing her eyes again. He looked down at her collar and saw her crisp black blouse, wrinkled from too much dancing and the sleeves pulled back to where he could see the almost translucent white flesh of her arms. 

     "Hmm?" Percy placed an arm behind her shoulders and reached up with his left hand to press lightly with his index finger against the delicately white topmost button on the collar. He ran his thumb over it, and she looked down at his hand. 

     "What would happen if I unbuttoned this top button?" he whispered again, slowly. The button was between his fingers, slick and smooth and cold. He could feel her chest rising beneath his fingers at rhythmically paced intervals, slow and calm and unfazed. 

     "What, indeed..." came her answer. The room seemed cool; blues and greens and turquoise stood out. _Se você disser que eu desafino, amor...Saiba que isso em mim provoca imensa dor..._ Percy twisted the button back and forth between his fingers, still looking the girl directly in the eyes. And slid the button very carefully through the hole. 

     "But..." he continued whispering (why was he whispering? There were no secrets to tell...), "What would happen if I unbuttoned all these buttons?" The pearl dropped disc was round and flat and so small...Hemmingway's nose almost touched his and the robust mixture of cherries and wine was almost deliciously unbearable. 

     "I don't know," she whispered back, her lips just barely brushing velvet against his parched mouth. "And I think I'm far too smashed to even care what could--or would--happen." 


	9. Part Nine

Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah. This is always the same, why do I keep having to put it? You know who belongs to Agent Rowling and Dr. Bubbles! Stop bothering me!   
**Author's Note and all that sort of rot:** Love-love-love, love-love-love, love-love-love, makes the world go 'round! Doot doodoodoo, doot doot doot! Hey, everybody! It's really windy here in my little empire of the world, so yeah! Thanks for all your feedback and all that sort of thing. I've been doing enrollment and have been under a lot of stress lately (see above for an example of the now-typical me), so that's the reason this is slightly late. Also: the reason this installment is so short is because I am going away for the weekend and won't be around to work on it, so I decided to go ahead and post this. 

    Percival Weasley sat in the now all-too familiar grey chair that completed his small office with style and presence, tapping his fingers together and staring moodily out the window at the dark clouds hanging over London's impressive cityscape. It was January 2nd, approximately two days after he and Hemmingway had been out to get the opera tickets for Mr. Crouch. He gave a deep sigh and leaned back into the chair, hoping to catch the smell of leather, and was slightly relieved to find that the chair hadn't lost its newness. 

    It was comforting in its familiarity; he had written countless insipid reports while sitting in it, and now it offered him support where he seemingly had none. Percy frowned, stood and self-consciously arranged a few of the objects on his desk. Eagle-feather quill to the left, ink bottle just down centre of the jar of nibs. 

    It was like a game of chess, moving the objects to a different place on the desk; gathering papers together, sorting and organising them. A simple game of chess with Ron, that's all organisation was. Percy sighed. People skills was another matter. 

    Hemmingway was avoiding him as much as possible after the strange New Year's Eve they had spent together; he didn't blame her, but then again, he hadn't seen her in quite a while. Tensions were high because of the new year rolling around, he had too much paperwork to fill out, and he was highly annoyed with himself after that blatantly embarrassing scene at the poor girl's flat. 

    He stopped shuffling papers a moment to stare off into space and sigh. Her flat. He had been inside her flat, sitting on her red divan, right next to her. Right there, she had been so close and so vulnerable, her black tresses tumbling down around her shoulders--Percy shook his head fiercely. There was no time for things like that. 

    They both knew that it was a blatant disregard to any and all rules and that whatever happened was bound to be regretted. But thankfully, he had reassured himself, absolutely nothing had happened. They had secured the opera tickets, gotten a little drunk and--well, to put it kindly, done absolutely nothing the rest of the evening except sleep. 

    Damn right to avoid one another. Percy sighed almost contentedly. It gave him a small sense of self-satisfaction to think such things, he was finally gaining his old personality back, for which he was glad. There was no small part of him that regretted making such decisions, he thought, frowning. Absolutely none. He was not going to take part in any form of misconduct that would go on inside or outside the office, whether it was working on papers or discussing current events within the ministry, or sitting outside on a porch swing, just sitting on the cushions, drinking iced tea and being ever so comfortable and just sitting and talking and -- 

    The door to Hemmingway's small side office opened softly. The dark-haired girl entered the room and shut the door behind her ceremoniously, almost coldly. Oh, damn, he thought. If she's angry with me, I'm toast. Percy watched the reflection of the room in the glimmer of the window with his hands clasped behind his back, watched Hemmingway approach his desk and lay several documents on it. She cleared her throat. 

     "Sir?" She sounded slightly impatient, but even more formal than usual. Percy cringed inwardly; it was quite apparent that she was making attempts to gain back their original terms with one another. 

     "Hemmingway?" he replied casually, turning with a last glance outward to the city and taking his seat, not looking at her. Percy took the documents into his hands, turned them around, and adjusted his thinly rimmed glasses, taking in the titles and authors of the bound rolls of parchments with a slight frown on his face. Hemmingway sighed, sounding both distressed and annoyed, and he heard her flip papers on a large tablet of parchment she was holding. So she was feeling a bit nervous, too. 

     "Sir, the Legion of International Standards demands a report on the Consideration of Wizarding Status Quos Within Atlantic Waters by next week; the Transylvanian Department of International Magical Cooperation wants a final date on your meeting with them about signing the Ban on Dueling..." --here she flipped forward a few pages-- "Ali Bashir is considering bringing charges against our department (more specifically, you, sir) after your demands for an investigation on his 'carpet smuggling' (the Arabian ministry wants to know where a personal assistant gets off sending orders for the head of a department, sir, my suggestion would be to watch your toes); and Rita Skeeter has been telephoning me for the past four hours, attempting to bribe me into getting an interview with you, as she is dying to know what happened to Mr. Crouch." And with a final flip of her papers, Hemmingway heaved a great breath and looked at her boss with no small degree of uncertainty. 

    Percy gave a disgusted sigh and removed his glasses to rub at his eyes. This was definitely not good. The incident at Hogwarts had been bad enough, but now this? Charges and meetings and papers and Hemmingway mad at him? It was more than he would be able to bear. Insanity loomed indefinitely before him, he could see it now, destined for St. Mungo's and Hemmingway would be so satisfied... 

     "Oh, no. No, no, no..." he said, sighing again, feeling a large weight suddenly bear down in the middle of his chest and gazing at the fuzzy black and red spot that was his secretary. "What am I going to tell Mr. Crouch?" The large grainy splotch wavered a bit; he guessed Hemmingway was crossing her arms or something. 

     "Apparently nothing, sir," came her voice. Percy frowned and replaced his glasses. As soon as the perfect circles of glass were present once more before his eyes, he saw that Hemmingway was wearing a medium-length red skirt and a black blouse (with the top button unbuttoned, surprisingly enough) instead of her usual pleated skirt and sweater set. Blinking, he decided not to ask what had caused such a drastic change in her wardrobe. 

     "What?" Percy glanced back at the documents. They were drab and full of nonsense, and they could wait. Hemmingway gave him a half-concerned, half-annoyed look. He felt like hitting her with a small hex, just hard enough to wipe that motherly look off her face. Percy definitely didn't like it at all. 

     "I said you won't tell him anything." 

     "What do you mean by that?" asked Percy quickly, feeling very perplexed and annoyed at the same time. Now Hemmingway wore a cold and defiant look upon her pale features. Percy reconsidered. Perhaps motherly was better than being glared at in an almost threatening way. 

     "He isn't here." The inveterate feeling of irritation toward Hemmingway's matronly attentions dissolved instantly, replaced with a mixture of hot and cold in Percy's stomach. Gone? How could the head of a department so important to the ministry be gone? And where had he gone to? He wasn't about to go to all those meetings by himself...Percy's mind suddenly became filled with even more disturbing illusions. Unsigned treaties, failed meetings and disrupted alliances; he was in a lot of trouble... 

     "Not here?" he managed to gasp at length. Percy was feeling rather dizzy and hyperventilating slightly. How could this be? Was the whole world turning against him all of a sudden, Hemmingway most of all? 

     "Well, I know the ministry officers I've talked to said they haven't seen him," Percy could not read Hemmingway's expression. "Perhaps he went away on some trip or something?" He gulped. Mr. Crouch never went on trips, Percy knew that much. In fact, he had probably amassed several years' worth of time off with the time he spent in the office; it was a very odd thing indeed for him to not be around the Ministry, since his wife had died, and his son--well... 

     "Not at all, that's definitely not like Mr. Crouch. He doesn't just take time off like that, I mean...!" Realising he was becoming somewhat hysterical, Percy gripped the side of the grey desk to steady himself and try to focus on something in the room. He glanced about, desperately, until his eyes rested on Hemmingway. Her hair was fixed in softly looping locks that seemed to wave themselves about her face, that luscious red lipstick, when had she started wearing that--no, mustn't think of that. Have to concentrate. 

     "Well, then," said his secretary, taking no notice of his strange behaviour, "I suppose we will just have to keep working until Mr. Crouch returns. I doubt you'll have to go to all those meetings by yourself, but until then..." she sighed and exited the room; the door closed behind her with a soft click. 

    Percy watched her go, his eyes glued to the thick masses of perfectly smooth black tresses as though somehow that would help the dizziness that was overcoming him. He heaved an impressive sigh as the door closed and she was gone again. His last true vanguard had left him alone in the storm. 

    Looking back once more toward the papers the girl had left on his desk, a calculativeness began to flood his soul once more, and the old Percy began to scribble out drafts of compositions, make mental notes of researches to take care of, and other such dreadful atrocities his hurt and lost side would never have been able to organise. 

    _It's a sad truth_, said a voice beneath all the hard shell of stereotypical Percy, _you're becoming something of a basket case with this. Look, you've got a double personality, Perce. What is wrong with you? Can't you just look at the fact that this isn't who you're supposed to be? _

    _I am not a basket case_, said another voice coldly. _I am Percival Lazarus Weasley, and that is all there is to it. I am personal assistant to one of the most important wizards in the ministry, and one of these days I will prove myself to everyone I know. They just don't appretiate me because I happen to follow the rules. You have no right to call me double-sided. Blink-blink_, said the first voice. _Listen to yourself, you're going mad, Percy._

    And then the conversation between the two small voices was over. Percy wondered how on earth he had survived eighteen and a half years without being examined by a psychological doctor; he had small voices in the back of his mind carry on coversations with other small voices in the back of his mind more than once. 

    It was not until several minutes later that something caught his eye, something rather peculiar. He had been considering how he would gain back the trust of Hemmingway when he realised his hand had been moving across a blank piece of aged parchement. Percy looked down at his handwriting: thin, sharp and pointed stood out in glistening black ink on the yellowed paper and he realised he had written but a single sentence over on a blank sheet of parchment ten times in a row.   
_Love is merely a lie we found our truths upon._


	10. Part Ten

**Disclaimer: Agent Rowling, Mr. Bubbles and Les Freres Warner own all. I deny everything. **

Isn't it a surprise that I'm not dead after six months of trying to get over an ex-boyfriend? I'll tell you right off the bat--this isn't going to be my finest work, as it's been a long time since I've tried to come up with an installment to this, so please be kind on my rusted nerves. It's been a long summer, believe me. 

Other than that, the series definitely isn't over (What? Did you really think I'd end it without at least a bit more snogging than THAT?) and I'm definitely still here. I saw the movie, and am very surprised to say I'm in love with Snape now, but there you have it. 

    Percy stared at the words so hard their glistening letters began to swim before his eyes. Love? Love was not a very Percy thing to write about. In fact, it was downright frightening, the way that particular word stood out before the others on the crinkled yellowing paper. Was he--could there possibly be a way? 

    With this thought in mind, Percy suddenly found himself searching through mental databanks, trying to pick out something he might have said or done that would have given Hemmingway any reason to be suspicious of him--excepting, of course, that memorable New Year's Eve--anything at all. What kind of an impression had he made on her in the past five or six months? 

    He felt like beating his head against the grey desk. This was not the time to be thinking about this, he had work to do. And besides, there was no way Percy was in love. Absolutely none. No way. He was just...sort of...infatuated? No, no. Not that either. They were total opposites. He was there to work hard and someday gain respect as a Senior Ministry Official. How many times had he told himself that? Rule abiders always win, it was there in printed proof. 

    She, on the other hand, had needed something to do. Something to occupy her time, or get her out of the way of her busy parents. Some kind of job for pin money--did she need any, with what he had seen of her apartment?--nothing serious. Hemmingway tended to take things rather loosely, as if life were an elaborate dance of sorts, and she was simply taking whatever life threw at her and sending it flying across the dance floor enthusiastically, but recklessly. 

    Percy dipped his quill into the ink well, sighed deeply, and wrote the day's date at the top of his roll of parchment. 

    In the weeks that followed, Percy was so blinded by the countless meetings and work-related events that the issue dealing with Hemmingway was pushed to the back of his mind, until one late evening in mid-February. He had been working until well past ten-thirty every night including weekends for several weeks; while his father did not seem to take much notice, his mother was incessantly worried about him. 

    Unbeknownst to Percy was that Mrs. Weasley had never seen her middle son act this way: she knew as a fact he was a striving sort of boy, a very hard worker and a generally rule-abiding young man, but the dark circles beneath his eyes, the early mornings and late nights (which sometimes resulted in his not returning home at all), his steadily decreasing appetite and--most frightening of all-- the fact that his trademark red locks were beginning to turn a rather dull and sickening ashy colour, had all given her great cause for alarm and dismay. 

    She was utterly convinced the Ministry was trying to use Percy is some strange experiment to see how fast they could ship him off to St. Mungo's and declare him critically insane and generally unstable before his first year there was up. Nevertheless, Percy just kept working. He was too tired for words anymore, too tired and busy to enjoy dinner with his mother and father. 

    Molly sighed with an almost lugubrious sadness each night, long after Arthur had gone up to bed, as she looked at the hand on the family's inherited grandfather clock that read 'Percival Weasley'--stuck perpetually at 'Work'. 

    Meanwhile, back at the office, Percy did not realise his mother was at all concerned about him. Trying to find some strange answer to solve any and all problems was like trying to look through a pair of lenses someone had smeared petroleum jelly on, much like Fred and George had done one summer morning after returning home from school for the term. 

    As for Hemmingway at that point in time, she was generally nowhere to be found. True, they had warmed up to each other somewhat since New Year's, but she was still maintaining her distance and he his. He rarely saw her leave her office, but figured she probably wasn't there half the time, anyway. Percy sighed and began to come to terms with the facts; they were beginning to avoid each other in the hopes that perhaps they could regain old ground once more. 

    He had just finished mulling over this and signing his name, P. Weasley, at the bottom of a very important document, when Hemmingway's door opened with a lulled click. Percy could see her out of the corner of his eye and promptly chose to finish his name with a grand flourish rather than stop right in the middle of it. She approached his desk, striding across the room as though she had something she wanted to say, but couldn't quite brace herself for. 

    Percy finally looked up at her over his spectacles briefly, flicking his eyes upward to note with some well-hidden surprise that she looked rather shocked and worried about something. Setting the quill back into its holder, he readjusted his glasses, folded his hands upon the desk and looked back at her calmly. It was odd to be staring back into those eyes once more, but the Something that she wanted to say was obviously very important indeed. 

    Hemmingway took a deep breath and began to run her fingers across the edge of the polished desk, biding her time and biting her lip. Percy watched her pale hands glide back and forth between the silver metal inbox he had received as a graduation present from some distant cousin and the reddish-brown framed photograph of his family from years past, smiling and waving at him happily. He wondered vaguely what she would do if he suddenly brought his hand down over hers, but instead looked up at her expectantly and with a shred of impatience. 

    Finally she looked at him, a slight crease in her forehead as she blinked, bringing down soft black eyelashes over blue eyes, blue like the strobe lights in the clubs he passed on his way to dinner on early evenings when he actually had time for such things. 

     "Sir," she said, and gave a sigh. Percy raised his eyebrows; what was she waiting for? He was busy, she needed to go type letters or something and not be standing around wasting his time daydreaming and making him itchy with wonder. 

     "Well? Are you just going to stand there and polish my desk all day?" he replied quietly, but this evoked no response from her. Now he was really beginning to feel annoyed, but more importantly, he was feeling very nervous. What did she want to tell him? Did it have to do with New Year's? Maybe she wanted to reconcile... 

     "We've had a Summons, sir," she said at length, sounding like his mother when something was horribly wrong and she just couldn't get out with it except in strange quiet hysterics. Percy stopped breathing, then remembered that he needed to and began once more, only it was more of a choking or a wheezing rather than just normal breathing. 

     "From... from...?" he managed to gasp, his glasses sliding down his nose as he ran his fingers through his hair. Hemmingway gulped and said nothing. It was in this eerily silent period of time that he began to raise his head from his hands to look at her, horrified. Hemmingway was standing in front of him, eyes wide as dinner platters, white as a ghost, as he realised... 

     "The Minister of Magic, sir," she told him gently, almost in a whisper, rather afraid that the ginger-haired young man before her might pass out, but he at least held on to conscious thought, which was more than she had given him credit for when she had received the owl. 

    She had fully expected him to go absolutely and maddeningly ballistic. Instead, his head dropped with a nasty clunk onto the large desk calendar resting in front of him and she heard deep gasping; no doubt he was hyperventilating. The dates began to scatter to the edges, all the twenties mixed in with the starting dates and the first of the month nowhere to be found, away from any danger of being smashed to pieces, and Hemmingway sighed with something of relief. 

    At least he wasn't screaming or pulling his hair out, but at the same time, she was very worried about him. Vivian was used to usually calm people just suddenly turning spontaneously combustible in record time, but this boss was especially unpredictable in her eyes, and she wasn't quite sure what was going to happen next. 

    A moan, though muffled, rose from where his head now rested on the calendar. The scattered dates shivered, but held their ground as Percy finally raised his head to look at Hemmingway. She almost laughed nervously out loud at his bright red nose and lopsided glasses, but the severity of the moment forced her to purse her lips and look a lot like Professor McGonagall would have had she been in the same situation. 

     "Why does he want us?" asked Percy in a slow monotone. Hemmingway shook her head slightly and waited patiently. He let out a few dry sobs and kicked at the desk, which promptly threw open one of its drawers as if to say, "Stop whining!", nearly hitting him in the process. Percy scowled at the desk and firmly closed the drawer, taking care not to slam anything else, lest he provoke more of his furniture. There was nothing he could do but answer the summons to Minister Fudge's office, all the way at the top of the Ministry building. 

    It was very much like Mr. Crouch's office, only without the topiaries and the odd singing noises that Mr. Crouch had been making when Percy had cautiously gone up to his desk. Cornelius Fudge's office was nicely circular, and very nicely furnished, with a coat of pale blue paint that reached from the domed ceiling right down to the white wainscoting. 

    The light brown hardwood floors covered in a few creme coloured rugs accented the rest of the quarters and put off a rather stylish theme; it was more than a privilege to see how the head of the Ministry decorated his workspace, but Percy still could not rid his stomach of the fluttering butterflies swooping around in his stomach. Now that he thought of it, it felt more like bats than butterflies. 

    Percy looked over at Hemmingway in the wingbacked chair to the right of him. She had an air of knowledge about her, as if she almost knew what was coming, but was still definitely paler than usual. Her legs were crossed and one of her feet was bouncing back and forth, making thumping noises against the leg of the chair every so often. He sighed, feeling horribly ill, and moved his fingers into a temple, appearing lost in thought and very serious about what lay before him. 

    The only problem was, he had absolutely no idea why both he and Hemmingway had been sent up here. A few reasons had formed in his head, but none of them were very good for something so severe as being sent to the Minister's office. Surely Mr. Fudge knew nothing about New Year's... 

    One of the seven doors placed about the circular walls opened, and Fudge himself emerged from an adjacent room with a few quiet voices and the sounds of Magicographers typing busily away following him forth. Percy had seen the Minister before, but never realised how imposing the man was. True, he was short and bumbling sometimes, but the serious look upon the man's face sent chills up and down his spine, and definitely did not see where so many others got off rolling their eyes in Fudge's direction after his back was turned. 

    The Minister strode over to his desk and sat. Shuffling a few papers on his desk, Fudge cleared his throat and looked up at Percy and Hemmingway, his eyes not revealing a bit of what he thought of either one of them. Percy gripped the sides of the wingback chair and took deep breaths to calm himself down. Hemmingway, he noticed again, simply sat and stared off into space. 

     "I suppose you are both wondering why I have called for a summons," began Minister Fudge quietly, conjuring a pair of thin wire reading nosepincers and placing them on the bridge of his turned-up nose. There was silence, and Percy suddenly realised he was supposed to say something. 

     "Er..." he said, floundering for words. Fudge stopped shuffling papers to stop and look at him, and Percy looked to Hemmingway desperately for help. She stared back at him incredulously, as if any plea for assistance was absurd at this point. "Well," he said in a strangled voice, "Obviously we've... done something wrong?" Percy glanced up at the Minister, hoping he was wrong, all wrong, that there was nothing serious about any of this and that Fudge would simply smile and perhaps send them both on their way. Perhaps it was a mistake? 

    Minister Fudge folded his hands before him on the desk. "It has come to the attention of the higher forms of authority here at the Ministry that your senior, Bartemius Crouch, has been missing for several months." He paused to give Percy, then Hemmingway, a very thorough look. "Many of us feel this could be somehow related to the disappearance of Bertha Jorkins..." Here Fudge seemed to falter, and waved his hand in the air dismissively. "But that is not important to your devices. 

     "What is important is the upcoming Triwizard Tournament Task. Mr. Crouch was expected to be present as one of the judges, and..." Another pause. Percy looked up from his hands to see Fudge frowning into space, almost considering something. He had an air of someone terribly important who had made a grave mistake and was just know thinking of changing his mind about it. Fudge cleared his throat and looked at Percy again. 

     "This may be a mistake, considering your previous record with leaving the Ministry," continued the Minister, giving them both harsh looks, "But I am requesting that you both leave at once to attend this event. Normally I would send a senior from a different department, but as this is the Triwizard Tournament, courtesy dictates that I must send a replacement from the department." Fudge paused, and Percy wondered if he was about to smile. "Lord knows you use a bit of a break, Weasley. You'll leave in the morning." 

    And with that, he bid them both good day, ushered them out into the hallway, and shut the door behind them. Percy raised his eyebrows and looked at Hemmingway, who sighed and began trudging down the hallway past the Security Wizards. It was going to be a long day. 


End file.
